


Again

by irisannbest



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Because everything about that ending needs fixing, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Season 8, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-07-12 11:10:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19945195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisannbest/pseuds/irisannbest
Summary: When Westeros undergoes great devastation, its only hope of salvation is Arya Stark, who is recruited by the magical forces of Essos to go back in time and correct the mistakes of the past.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first GOT/ASOIAF story. It follows 8x06 and acknowledges it throughout, but my (and Arya's) goal will be to change as much as possible.

It had been foolish really, sailing through one of the worst storms she’d ever seen. The worst storm  _ anyone  _ had ever seen one of her crew corrected, calling the storm a curse from the gods to match the abomination the world had become. Arya disagreed with him though. There was only one god she knew and he most likely loved what the world had become. The bitter thought frequented her mind as she persisted and commanded her crew through the storm despite their many objections. 

They had fared rather well at the start; better than anyone could’ve expected. They were well on their way back to Westeros when the storm’s fury increased as if sensing her return. 

The anguished screams of her crew as her ship went down was the last thing Arya heard before she fell into blackness. As she slipped further away from herself, she found a disturbing peace in knowing that she would no longer be alone. She recited her list name by name, but it was not one of those she would kill. It was of ones she couldn’t save.

_ Jon. Sansa. Bran. Sandor. Gendry.  _

They were dead and soon she would be too. 

A hint of a smile crossed her lips as she floated in the sea.

***********

A loud clang reached her ears, startling her back to consciousness. She gasped, first noting that she was on land. Not just on land, inside of a place...a temple. She laid on something soft that cradled her aching head. Arya tried sitting up, but a heavy pain in her chest sent her back down, gasping for breath. Her whole body was sore. It wasn’t a new experience for her. She had felt this way after the Waif had stabbed her and chased her until Arya got the upper hand to kill her first. And again when she fell to the cold ground and out of the Night King’s grasp at…

_ At Winterfell, _ a cruel, twisted voice finished in her head that oddly sounded like Jon’s. 

A cold and damning dread fell over her as she felt moisture in her eyes. Why was she still alive? And why was Death so cruel? It had taken everything from her and then came and took more. A few fleeting thoughts went towards her crew. Had they made it? Or had she led those people to their deaths? Her mind continued to spiral as she was suddenly back in King’s Landing trying to usher a woman and her child to safety as the city crumbled around them in a hail of fire and ash. She couldn’t save them. She couldn’t save anyone. 

It felt as if the Waif’s blade had been twisting in her gut again. 

She should’ve never left Westeros. 

“No,” a kind voice said aloud. For a moment, Arya thought she had gone mad and imagined it. But a red-cloaked figure stepped out of the darkness and into her vision. The woman simply smiled at her, reminding her eerily of the Red Woman, who had foretold her fate as the Nightslayer. “You shouldn’t have.” 

“W-who?” her throat refused to allow her to form her questions. She sighed defeatedly, letting her eyes fall closed. 

The priestess turned to address someone Arya couldn’t see. “Water,” she ordered before turning back. “I am Kinvara. A High Priestess of the Red Temple of Volantis. I’m here by the will of the one true God, as are you.” 

Before she could react, a cup of water was gently thrust under her nose. She turned away from Kinvara to look at her companion. A young, pale boy leaned over, bringing his face further into the light. With difficulty, she sat up slightly. Arya glanced back and forth at the water before allowing the cup to tip onto her lips. She had no fears of being poisoned. She wouldn’t die. Death was a mercy that she would never have no matter how much she begged for it. The water soothed her dry throat and greedily accepted it. Her hand raised to catch the water that had fallen from her lips and accidentally brushed the boy’s deathly cold ones. She made the mistake of looking back up at the boy and jerked back. 

His blue lips twisted into a cruel smirk, almost a snarl as he stared back at her. He scrambled to catch the cup before she became soaked. Kinvara watched the scene with cool eyes before waving away the boy. He made a sound that resembled a hiss before moving away soundlessly. 

“Warlock,” Kinvara answered before a proper question was asked. “Don’t worry too much over him. He means you no harm and neither do I.” 

Arya looked around again. “Where am I?” she managed to get out weakly.

“Essos,” she answered briefly. “You were found by a believer and brought to us immediately.” 

“My people? Are they -” 

“Dead,” the word was clipped and detached. “Everyone that boarded your ship is no more. You are the lone survivor because the Lord wills it.” 

Arya sniffed as her eyes burned. “Your Lord can go fuck himself,” she said stronger this time. It was painful to acknowledge that her attempt to save lives only cost her more. 

Kinvara reached a hand out to brush Arya’s face, though pulled it back as she flinched away. “He believes in you though you don’t believe in him. You were his champion in the Long Night and you have been chosen once again.”

Arya stared angrily, feeling a fury like nothing before. She was certain that she could fight through the pain to stand and kill this priestess where she stood. 

Kinvara smiled easily again as if knowing her thoughts and mocking them. “Daenerys Targaryen lives again. Though, she is not like before; she’s changed.” 

_ A little less,  _ Beric Dondarrion’s voice whispers in Arya’s head. She hadn’t known what that meant at the time. 

“She and her dragon laid waste to Westeros. From King’s Landing to the true North. The whole continent is destroyed.” 

Tears finally dropped from her eyes. She didn’t want to hear any of it; she couldn’t. “I know.” A cold feeling had taken hold of her; the same one that she felt when she heard about it the first time. She had wanted to get back to Westeros to see for herself. Bran could see everything, Sansa had guards that would protect her from anything, and Jon had known how to survive disasters like that. She thought there was a chance she could get to them if they survived. She never gave up hope, despite nearly everyone telling her to.

“There are survivors, but not for long. Fleeing is unlikely in itself, but I fear the Dragon Queen’s new thirst for blood will compel her to return to finish.” 

“New?” Arya scoffed, “I watched her burn people in King’s Landing! She killed hundreds before Jon stabbed her in the heart!” She nearly yelled, fighting against her own mind to not take her back to that day. To not think about Jon or anyone else who was most likely dead. She failed miserably. The smell of burning bodies rushed back to her along with the sight and fear of structures falling around, crushing those on the ground. That was the entirety of Westeros now. 

The priestess remained unbothered, expecting the outbursts. “Death is just as complicated as life, Arya Stark. You of all should know this. Daenerys died in moments of betrayal and heartbreak and confusion. Her death amplified those feelings; consumed her. She is not faultless in this, but the blame isn’t solely on her.”

Arya stubbornly rubbed at her eyes, hating herself for crying in front of this woman. 

“All hope is not lost,” Kinvara started, “There is a way to fix this. A way for you to fix this.” 

“You want me to kill her,” Arya guessed, “You want me to kill Daenerys again.” 

“No, I want you to save her. And save Westeros...once again.” 

Her face scrunched up in confusion before melting to anger. She had no need for riddles. “You just said Westeros is doomed.” 

“It is. And will continue to be if you don’t join us.” 

It was insane to even ask. “Us?”

“Yes,” a familiar voice answered. “Us.” 

Arya’s hand immediately flew to her hip, feeling for weapons that weren’t there. She scowled as the figure appeared on her other side, facing Kinvara. The man once known as Jaqen H’ghar stared back at her almost in amusement. 

“A man is not here to kill a girl.” 

“Then why are you here? You don’t serve her god.”

The faceless man’s only response was a quirked lip in Kinvara’s direction. There was a silent exchange between the two before he turned back to Arya. His hair fell over his shoulder as he tilted his head at her. “The Many Face God is named as such for obvious reasons. Some of his followers see a fire god, others see a drowned one, some see the Seven. It is not a man’s place to say which are right and which are wrong. A man is only here to serve.” 

“Valar Dohaeris,” Kinvara agreed.

His answer did nothing to diminish Arya’s confusion. Her brows furrowed as she looked between them. The oddness of the pair still unsettled her. Though, she sensed no danger from her former teacher. She allowed herself to relax, slumping back down. She stared upward to avoid both of their steady gazes. “And what does your God command, exactly?” 

“That together we right the wrongs of the world. We put the world back on the course that He intended. We go back and sit the rightful ruler on the throne.” 

She frowned, still refusing to look at either of them. Fuck the throne, she thought. That hideous chair had been the cause of so much bloodshed. Even after it was melted by Daenerys’ dragon it still caused death and destruction. In the back of her mind, two of Kinvara’s words had become trapped, repeating over and over again; each time making less sense than the last. “Go back,” she voiced, allowing her head to lull to face the priestess. 

Kinvara gave a short nod. “Reverse time and make sure a different path is taken. The right path.” 

“What?” Arya asked before she could quell her curiosity. “How?”

“With the combined magics of Essos,” Jaqen answered. “The Red Priestesses of Volantis, the Faceless Men of Bravos, and the warlocks of Meereen - we have all come together for this; for you.”

“You will go back,” Kinvara continued, leaning down to cup Arya’s cheek. This time she didn’t flinch away. Arya was too paralyzed to do much of anything. “With the knowledge you have gained, you will change the events of the past, stop the catastrophes that happen, and save your home and your family.”

“And if I fail?” 

For the first time, Kinvara’s calm and omniscient demeanor gave way to something more worrisome. Her lips pressed in a thin line as she tried to consider the possibility. Whatever she was thinking wasn’t pleasant. After a moment, she appeared to collect herself. 

“I fear...that is not an option.” 

Arya shook her head in disbelief. She might have been wrong before. Maybe she was dead and this was her hell. Two figures conjured up to ignite hope in her against all odds and logic. They must’ve been lying. It was better if they were, she realized. If such a thing could be done, she wasn’t the one to pull it off. She could think of no worse fate than failing everyone a second time. 

“No,” she whispered.

“No?” Jaqen echoed.

“Whatever you’re planning. I will not be a part of it.” 

“You’re not part of it,” Kinvara rejected, “you  _ are  _ it.” 

“Well, it sounds like you and your god have to reconsider.” Arya looked towards the ceiling again, determined to end the conversation. Kinvara and Jaqen must have received the message as they stalled a moment, staring at each other before leaving her side. A crushing relief came over her as she was left alone. As she stared at the temple ceiling, she hoped that the resurrected, dragon queen would light Essos ablaze next in her madness. She was pulled down by darkness again with the thought of fire melting snow at Winterfell. 

******************

She had spent almost a fortnight resting and was almost back to her full strength. At her insistence, her weapons were returned to her. Though the touch and sight of them gave her peace and filled her being with dread. Bran had used the power of the three eye raven to place the Valyrian steel dagger in her hands before she slew the Night King with it. He was no longer the brother she grew up with when she had last seen him, but his death had meant she had lost her little brother again. And Needle was worse. Needle had stood for everything that made her Arya Stark. She remembered Jon giving it to her as a parting gift, her father discovering its existence, Gendry accusing her of stealing it, retrieving it with Sandor. Her first thought was to find the nearest person and gift the sword to them. Like in Braavos, she couldn’t bring herself to actually do it. 

As she stepped outside the temple, she stopped at an area she had taken to in the last couple of days. She glanced at the sky. Everything was different. When she had been sailing West, the sky got more beautiful each day. Nan’s stories about the blue-eyed giant came to mind as she reveled in it. Arya had never believed it, but she had started to wonder as she stared at the now lackluster sky. If there was a blue-eyed giant, was it dying? 

“A girl ponders,” Jaqen’s voice startled her. 

Arya jumped a little, the unbidden memory of her doing the same thing to Jon and Sansa infiltrating her mind. She stayed silent as he stood next to her. During her stay, she had avoided him and Kinvara and their attempts to change her mind. She also not-so-kindly denied them with the help of the weapons her brothers gave her. Still, he approached her without fear or concern. 

“It’s fitting,” he continued. “A girl has a lot to ponder. How does one carry killing their family, friends...innocents.” 

Arya turned to him abruptly. “I did not kill them.”

Jaqen raised an unbothered brow. “If a girl can save those who can be saved and doesn’t, how is this any different from murder?” 

She opened her mouth and closed it, not having a response. She turned away when she saw a smirk grace his face. 

“A girl is afraid. Of her past failures...and future ones. Of love and family. Of certainty. Is that why a girl fled West?” 

“I did not flee.” 

“A lie.” 

“We’re not playing the game of faces.” 

“A girl forgets,” he counters. “We never stop playing.” 

“I didn’t flee. And I’m not afraid of anything.” 

Jaqen stalled for a moment before simply replying, “A lie.” He mimicked her and glanced at the sky. “A man wonders what would a girl have to flee. She had everything she left the house of black and white for. Her family, her enemies all fallen, adoration from her people...love. Why be afraid to have all her heart’s desires?” 

Arya gulped, her throat suddenly as dry when she arrived. She shook her head to clear her thoughts. “Why do you want this anyway? You worship death, and that’s what Daenerys has given you; more death.” 

Jaqen went quiet again. When their eyes met, he spoke again. “What is a greater gift, lovely girl: the imminent death of Westeros and the millions there or Westeros thriving under a better regime and the millions that would die...live and create more millions for years to come?” 

“Creating even more death?” she asked confused and sickened. 

“Creating more life. We all receive the gift. This a girl knows. Though, rarely do we get to alter what comes naturally. A girl has received a different gift, yet she rejects it.” 

“I can’t do it,” Arya said meekly. She hadn’t sounded so small since she was a child asking Beric if he could bring back a man without a head.  _ A little less,  _ she remembered. It had applied to her now too. She had escaped death so many times; each time she came back a little less her and a little more afraid.

“The Many-Face God doesn’t make mistakes.” 

“He did this time,” she responded, setting to leave. 

“Where will a girl run to this time? Westeros is no more. The lands West will follow and here eventually. Soon there will be nowhere to run. And a girl will have to decide if she dies a coward or Arya Stark.”

Arya didn’t look back as she left him behind, entering the temple again. She immediately was met with Kinvara’s gaze sticking to her from across the room. She turned to flee from the priestess’s scrutiny. A servant almost knocked her down in her attempt to escape. He reached out to steady her, mumbling something in Valyrian. She looked at him and her breath hitched. 

_ Gendry.  _

No, she shook her head. Not Gendry. He had similar blue eyes and black hair, but it wasn’t him. She was being stupid. It wasn’t the first time she had mistaken someone for him. She had thought something similar as a panicking man grabbed her urgently in King’s Landing asking for his wife. That man was dead now along with his wife. And so was Gendry, she painfully reminded herself. Separating herself from the man, she nodded at him and sprinted away to the quarters given to her. She didn’t realize she had been gripping Needle tight until her hand started to burn. She slowly released the handle. Jaqen’s words started to echo in her head. There was nowhere she could go to escape. There was no going forward for her or anyone if Daenerys came back there.

She sighed, grabbing a Needle again before realizing it. Fear cuts deeper than swords, she was once told. Though apparently, she had forgotten. She was afraid. Afraid that Jaqen and Kinvara were lying, afraid that they weren’t, afraid that she would see the horrors that she seen again. Would she have to stop the Night King from killing her brother again? Would she have to try and fail to resue that mother and child again? Say goodbye to her brother as he faced exile again? Or experience the same stomach drop and erratic heartbeat as she was told that the Mad Queen had returned to Westeros with her dragon again? 

_ A little less.  _

She knew if she had failed and had to see those things again it would be the end of Arya Stark. But could she be called Arya Stark now? She had nothing; was nothing, but a lost girl with no home and painful memories. A coward as she was just called. Her grip fell from Needle again. If there was no going forward, she would be forced to go back. 

_ Fuck.  _

Before she could think the better of it, she stormed out of her chambers and walked back. She willed her eyes not to stray to the servant that resembled her past lover as she passed him. Abruptly, she stopped as she nearly ran into Kinvara and Jaqen, who stood patiently watching her. Kinvara’s face twisted into a gentle smile while he failed to hide his knowing smirk. Arya steeled herself as she stared back at them. When she spoke, she made sure to sound like the Nightslaying legend the North claimed she was.

“Tell me again how this works.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya lands back in time immediately after she's killed the Night King. Set post 8x03 - the reunions we didn't see.

The floor was as cold against her as it was hard. Arya felt stupid for that being her main thought. She was about to attempt the impossible. Something that united the faceless men, red priestesses, and warlocks in Essos. She had been told that she was chosen; a champion for the second time, but that was far from how she felt. One of her hands left the ground to grip Needle and the other to her dagger. “This is taking too bloody long,” she muttered in an attempt to calm herself. 

“A girl still has doubts,” Jaqen observed, not too far from her. 

“Of course I do,” she spat back, closing her eyes. She had agreed to this on impulse and every time she was compelled to think the better of it, she shot it down quick. It was getting harder to contain the doubting thoughts. “This is madness.” 

“It is,” he agreed as a warlock passed by him to kneel by her. 

Arya observed him cautiously. He wasn’t the same boy that tended to her when she first awoke. This one was slightly older with the same lips and hissing sound emitting from his lips. He held a bowl to her lips, urging her to drink. With hesitation, she let the bowl tip onto her lips, sending a thick and horrible liquid down her throat. She choked at the taste but continued to swallow it down until it was gone. Her head lulled as she finished it, her vision blurring. Vaguely, she could hear the priestesses around her chanting with Kinvara leading the charge. Though, she somehow heard Jaqen’s voice clearly as he said, “It’s working,” 

She felt her brows pull together in confusion. Her lips parted to ask questions, but her voice caught in her throat, feeling as thick as the liquid she just consumed. She flinched as something cold and wet landed on her cheek and again when it happened to her other cheek. She knew what it was because she had felt it most of her life in Winterfell. It couldn’t be, she reasoned as more drops of cold wetness hit her face and then the hand clutching to Needle. 

_ Snow. _

Arya looked up at the ceiling that was disappearing from sight in favor of multiple flurries of snow descending upon her. Dazed, she wanted to reach up and catch some of them, but her hand felt as heavy as a war hammer. She blinked as her vision blurred even more. The chanting seemed to get further away and she looked to her side in search of Jaqen or Kinvara or anyone and came up short. She worriedly wondered if she were going blind again, but she knew that was wrong. Before she had the chance to completely panic, she felt her body drop as if the ground had disappeared. Her mouth opened in a wordless scream as she fell in a dark endless void. 

When she finally hit the ground again, she felt small hard pieces of something hitting her from above. Glass? She questioned, moving her hand around. No. Not glass, she realized before her eyes found the weirwood tree and the familiar figure beside it. She gasped as she spotted Bran, staring back at her from his chair. 

Her hand grasped at the remains of the fallen Night King. Behind them fell his generals and the wight army that had come to overwhelm her home. Shakingly, she stood watching them all fall like before. 

Just like before, she thought repetitively. She was back. It worked. Looking back to Bran in disbelief, she found him looking back at her with a mirrored expression. Her face scrunched in confusion again. That hadn’t happened the first time. Bran had stared back at her with an expression of indifference that told her that he had known all along how the battle would turn out. 

“Bran,” she called out, her voice hoarse from the Night King’s tight grip. 

He remained silent, looking at her as if she were a tricky riddle. She stepped closer to him, but a voice paused her steps. 

“Bran?” Jon called out, running to them in a mixture of gasps and panicked breaths. She turned to face him, tears building in her eyes at the mere sight of him. His eyes surveyed the wreckage and bodies around them in shock. He stopped short of the sight of Theon’s unmoving body on the ground. Kneeling, Jon quickly deduced that there was no help of saving the life of the man who grew up beside him. He lifted a hand to Theon’s face, shutting his eyes with a pained look flashing across his face. 

Arya remembered this from before. Still dazed, she parted her lips and spoke quietly with Jon. “What is dead may never die.” 

At the sound of her voice, Jon’s head snapped up and connected their gazes. He seemed dazed too, Arya realized as he stood with some difficulty and limped over to them. “Arya - what?” His eyes fell to the remains of the Night King surrounded by her dagger. He screwed up his face as he started to put the pieces together. The first time, she had waited for him to come to realize that the Night King had fallen at the hands of his little sister. Though, this time she crossed over to him swiftly and nearly collapsed into his arms as he was stuck in thoughts. 

The first sob fell from her lips uncontrollably as she held onto her brother. The rest shook her body as Jon’s arms clutched her just as tightly. The world disappeared for a moment for her as she cried into his neck. She had him back. He was here and in her arms. She didn’t think she could ever let go again. 

Unfortunately, Jon pulled back first, looking her over before looking to Bran. “Are you two alright?” Arya could barely reign in her tears before nodding. She knew behind her Bran did the same. Jon’s eyes were back on her. “Did - did you do it? You killed him?” 

“Yes,” she answered, her voice whacked with her sobs and hoarseness. 

Jon’s gaze went to her neck, gently reaching out to touch the mark left on her neck. Despite the many questions she knew he had, he stayed silent as he pulled her back into a hug. He had tried to ask her how she had been able to sneak up on the Night King and kill him before, though she never gave him a clear answer. Just as Gendry had questioned her scars and Sansa had inquired about her face changing. Her breath hitched at the thought of them. She pulled back, her eyes looking toward the entrance. She needed to see them too. And she knew where to find them. 

“Sans…” Her voice didn’t allow her to finish the name, but she knew Jon had the same concerns. 

“I - I don’t know,” he stuttered, cupping her face comfortingly. “We’ll look for her.” He turned back to Bran. “Will you be okay?” 

When Arya looked back to him, his gaze stayed stuck on her. “Go,” he said, still eyeing her in question. Jon quickly embraced him before leading Arya to the survivors. 

This she remembered too. Their remaining army struggling to comprehend what had happened and if their loved ones were still alive. She and Jon maneuvered through the litter of the dead and the fallen. She found Sansa at once, kneeling beside a tired Ser Brienne of Tarth while Jaime Lannister sat near to them cracking a joke to his brother. Arya approached them, watching as Sansa’s face melted from composed to vulnerable. She pulled her sister into a hug, holding her as tight as she did Jon. 

Arya remembered this as one of the times she glimpsed the old Sansa. Her teary-eyed sister, who cried happily at the happy endings in the songs. She grasped her tighter as she remembered that Sansa had seen her share of unhappy endings. As they pulled back, Sansa embraced Jon just as tightly but not as long. She looked behind them uncertainly with fear brimming on her face. “Bran?”

“Alive in the Godswood.” He looked towards Brienne and Jaime. “We’d appreciate the help.” 

Jaime Lannister stood first before helping Brienne to her feet. “Of course,” he muttered before they set off. 

Sansa looked behind them again before swallowing hard. “Theon?” 

Arya and Jon looked to the ground, giving her all the answer she needed. An abrupt sob tore out of her throat as she took in the news. Tyrion tentatively reached to grasp her shaking hand. “My lady, I’m sorry,” he apologized, giving her a quick squeeze.

When she looked back to her brother she saw him looking around at the damage and survivors. He was their leader. He needed to be out there, checking on his people. Looking back to Arya in uncertainty, he asked a silent question. 

She wanted to say no and plead with him to not leave her again. After a long moment, she gave a slight nod. Giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, he parted from them to do his duties. 

“I want to see him,” Sansa declared, wiping tears from her eyes. “Theon.” 

Tyrion looked uncertain. “My Lady…” 

“I want to see him,” she demanded this time, regaining the composure of the Lady of Winterfell. Without any more words, she swept passed Arya and headed to the Godswood with a reluctant Tyrion behind her. 

Arya moved through the yard, looking for things she hadn’t noticed before. There was Pod guiding an injured man towards the castle, muttering reassurances that the battle was over. Not too far from them were Ser Davos and a child she had seen preparing to enter the crypts. As she stopped to watch them, she caught a bit of their conversation. 

“They were fast and scary,” the girl had said, still half scared. 

“They were,” Ser Davos agreed. “But you kept your promise. You defended the crypts.” 

The girl looked sad, bowing her head. “I didn’t,” she confessed, “I hid with Lord Varys. It was Lady Stark and Lord Tyrion that fought.” 

Ser Davos paused, taking in the child’s words. “Sometimes in battle, survival is the only thing that matters. Even more so than fighting.” His eyes shot up and connected with Arya. The knight didn’t look surprised that she had survived. The quirk of his lip told her that he much expected her to. 

She nodded at him with a small smile before continuing on. She nearly fell back as a woman collided with her. The blue-eyed woman had come from a group of survivors that were still emerging from the crypts. Her clothes were ripped and Arya got more insight than before of the battle that occurred in the crypts. “Have you seen my husband?” 

_ My wife,  _ echoed in her mind as she thought back to the burning of King’s Landing. Her eyes widened as she remembered the man and who he reminded her of. Arya looked up towards the battlements where she knew he would be, looking for her. She turned back towards the frantic woman. “I’ll help you look.” 

She led the woman by her arm, inspecting the living and dead alike, hoping she wasn’t leading her to devastation. As they walked, the woman abruptly dropped to her knees beside a dead man. Arya’s chest tightened as she watched the woman sob before reaching to grasp the arm thrown across his chest. Both women startled as a rough cough emitted from the man on the ground. Not dead, Arya observed, but once his arm moved from his chest she could see the gash that it had hidden. 

“Help!” the woman screamed, drawing attention from those near. “He needs a maester! Help!” 

A hand gripped her shoulder and she spun to see who had joined them. Tormund Giantsbane gently pulled her aside as his fellow wildlings bent to pick the man off the ground. “Get him inside,” he ordered his people. Slowly, the men carried him away with his wife in hysterics behind them. Tormund waited until they were out of earshot before speaking again. “He’ll die.” 

“He might not,” she said, not quite believing it herself. 

She could tell Tormund wanted to disagree, but something had held him back. Before she had never really talked to the wildling, but he fell short of what she heard in Old Nan’s wildling stories. He seemed more a jester than someone who would hunt her down and drink her blood for the sole purpose of sport. She noticed the lustful way he had watched Ser Brienne, and the way he completely failed to grasp that she didn’t return his affections. 

“Your brother told me what you did. It takes a tough one to kill that fucker. How’d you do it?” 

“Stabbed him,” she answered simply because it was. 

Tormund’s brows raised before he burst out in laughter. He grasped his middle and threw his head back letting out another wheezing sound. She started to chuckle as watched him, regretting not having this moment before. When he finally stopped, he grinned down at her. “You and your brother were meant for the real North, not prancing around with lords and ladies.” 

She returned his smile. “You’re right about that.” She turned away from him walking back through the chaos. A loud screech caught her attention and sent a shiver through her core. She frowned up at the dawning sky as one of Daenerys’ dragons flew overhead. It was the one Jon rode during the battle and the one that died by Euron Greyjoy’s bolt. It was enough to remind her of her true purpose for living this over again. She had to stop everything. It could end only one way. She had to kill Daenerys before she could destroy King’s Landing. 

“Arya,” a voice sounded out in relief. 

She didn’t take her eyes off the sky and couldn’t bring herself to look from there. 

Gendry approached her slowly, reaching out to her. “Arya.” He grabbed her face, turning her gaze to him. When she saw his face, her mouth parted in a soundless gasp. She stared at him in shock before raising her hand to cup his face. He smiled down at her before checking over her. He visibly winced as his eyes landed on the wound on her forehead and again when he saw her neck. His fingers moving down as to touch the mark, but curling away at the last moment. “Does it hurt?” 

No, she answered the first time. It was a lie, but not much of one. They both knew she’d had worse. “Yes,” she answered this time. 

He nodded understandingly. “And the head?” 

“Just as bad.” 

“The maester should probably look at that.” 

“Are you going to let him look at your leg?” she asked smugly, remembering him being too busy fussing over her to worry about his own wounds.

He gave a confused shake of his head, wondering how she had known. “It can wait, milady.” She frowned at the term as she remembered his proposal and her rejection. He noticed her frown. “I heard what you did.” 

“It was nothing,” she said, looking to the ground. 

“You saved us all,” he argued, “‘s not nothing.” 

When she looked up again, she saw the same look of awe on his face as when they made love and again as he told her she was beautiful. The look made tears well in her eyes again. Without thinking, she grabbed the back of his head, dragging his lips down to hers. He kissed her back just as eagerly and it pained her to think that he didn’t have to experience everything she had to feel so intensely. As he slowly pulled away, she kept her eyes shut, trying to capture and save the moment. It was staggering how much she missed the feel of his lips and his touch on her skin. She sighed contently and vowed she would do anything to hold on to it as long as she could. 

Heavy footsteps pulled her attention away to another ghost. Sandor didn’t look surprised to see them wrapped up in each other. Aside from the lingered gaze on Gendry, he gave no indication of a reaction. He finally fixed a stare on her. “So, Kingslayer, huh?” 

Arya frowned, stepping away from Gendry. “I don’t remember word getting around this fast the last time,” she muttered. 

The two men exchanged confused glances before looking back to her. 

“Hit your head a little too hard, did you?” Sandor asked, only half-successful in masking his concern. 

“Fuck off,” she said louder, aimed at Sandor. 

“No, maybe you should get to bed,” Gendry suggested. 

The Hound frowned over at him. “There’s hundreds of dead fucking bodies around and that’s where your head’s at?” 

Gendry flushed before spluttering for a reply. Even covered in blood and dirt, Arya still thought she saw his cheeks redden. “You know I - that’s not - not like  _ that _ . For rest.” 

“I can’t,” she replied with a shake of her head. “Too much to do.” 

The Hound scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Let the lazy fucks that didn’t fight handle the cleanup.” 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

As if summoned, survivors at the other end of the yard parted to make way for a group of people. First a few Dothraki led a horse through the path with a body slumped over it. It was Ser Jorah, she realized, remembering hearing of how the disgraced knight died honorably defending his queen. Following them was Jon, who looked slightly more relieved by Daenerys’ safety. Last was the Dragon Queen herself. Arya frowned at the sight of her. She looked nothing like the woman that had claimed King’s Landing before Jon claimed her life. Daenerys looked vulnerable, devastated, and as weak as anyone there. Nothing about her looked like a queen as she walked dazedly, covered in as much blood and grime as the rest of them. She would be an easy kill if Arya was to go for it now. 

Two other people approached her as she walked. She remembered Grey Worm, demanding her brother’s head as justice. With one look at Ser Jorah, he turned away, opting to look at the woman beside him. Missandei, Arya recalled as the two women embraced each other tightly. Something broke in the Dragon Queen as she sobbed loudly into her friend’s neck. 

Jon spared her a pitying look before turning to face everyone. “We survived the Long Night. My sister, Arya Stark has slain the Night King and saved us all.” She could feel the eyes of everyone turn to her. In an attempt to make herself seem smaller, she stepped closer to Gendry and Sandor. Jon smiled over at her briefly before finishing. “I know we’ve all suffered and we’ve all earned our rest. And we’ll have it. But our work is far from done; our wars are far from done. We have defeated one enemy, now we will defeat our next one in the name of our queen.” 

Arya frowned as Daenerys looked up from her friend while still clutching onto her. Catching Jon’s eye, she nodded gratefully at his words. 

“But for now, we make sure to lay our dead to rest and give them the proper farewell they deserve,” he finished strongly. Like a king, Arya thought. He was the rightful heir to the throne. If she could correct things as they always should’ve been, Jon could end up ruling as he was born to. 

Looking around, she could see that not one person knew what to do next. Everyone looked either relieved, tired, or uncertain. Arya was different though. She knew exactly what to do. Her eyes sought out Daenerys again. 

She was going to kill the Queen. 

She felt eyes on her and turned to where she saw Brienne and Jaime standing with Bran. Her brother had been staring at her again. Unlike last time, his stare didn’t contain any confusion. He looked at her with a slight frown. She gaped as she figured him out. Bran must’ve known everything. 

  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Winterfell mourns, Arya has some awkward conversations with her siblings and sets a plan in motion. Set between 8x03 and 8x04.

Like the previous mornings, when Arya had woken up half-expecting to be back in the temple, or floating in the sea, or trying to dig her way out of the rubble in King’s Landing. Though, her worries were unfounded as she woke up in her Winterfell bed with her loved ones. This morning was no different. She left her room early before Sansa pulled her away to break their fast. It had happened before, but not exactly how Arya had remembered. 

“She expects us to fight for her,” Sansa exclaimed. “We just ended a war and she wants to march  _ our _ men to King’s Landing.” 

Arya silently gulped, listening dutifully. “I know.” 

Sansa shook her head in disbelief. “And Jon...he agrees. For months he only talked about the White Walkers and the Long Night, and now that we’ve survived he’s forgotten what else is important. That’s how he’s always been.” 

Arya’s brows furrowed. “What’s that mean?” 

Her sister stalled, wondering how to accurately express her thoughts. “I think he resents us for how he was raised. He didn’t feel like a Stark so he doesn’t always put the Starks best interests first. Like us.” She finished lifting a goblet to her lips and drinking. 

“That’s not true,” Arya started, her inane instinct of protecting Jon kicking in. “Jon would do anything for us. He’s our brother.” She almost flinched at the memory of Jon and Bran revealing the secret of Jon’s parentage. 

“That may be, but he’s also in love with her. He gave the North to her without consulting me or anyone else. When a man’s in that deep for a woman, not much can get him out.” 

“Family can,” she replied confidently. “If it came down to her or us, Jon would choose us.” 

“You don’t know that.”

Arya nodded sadly. “I do.”

Sansa looked down at her food. Arya could tell she was far from convinced. “Perhaps, I can trust your word. You’re the only one here that knows what he’s experiencing.” 

“What’s that mean?”

Sansa wiped all expression from her face as she stared back at her. “I’ve heard you’ve been spending time with a man. A smith if I’m not mistaking.” 

Arya felt her cheeks heat. She had been experiencing new things ever since she fell to the ground after killing the Night King again, but this was...entirely different. None of her siblings (barring Bran because he knew everything) had known about her time with Gendry. Discussing it with Sansa somehow made her wish she had been fighting wights again. “Your point?” 

“Who is he?” 

  
“A friend.” 

“A friend?” Sansa repeated incredulously. 

“You’ve heard of them, correct?” 

Ignoring her sister’s sarcasm, she simply replied, “Is that all he is?” 

“Maybe. Maybe not.” 

“I’ve heard not.” 

“From who?” Arya asked curiously. It never occurred to her that people had been watching the Nightslayer closely. And her and Gendry hadn’t exactly been hiding this time around. She wasn’t exactly mad that people had been speaking of them, but being the center of romantic gossip had been very new and strange to her. 

“The Hound. He says you’re  _ very  _ close.” 

“When did you two become gossiping fishermen wives?” Arya asked indignantly, but she knew she couldn’t bring herself to be mad at either of them. 

“Are you…” Sansa trailed off, looking uncertain for a moment. Her sister didn’t do that much anymore. She didn’t get nervous and hesitate to speak her mind. “Have you lain with him?” 

Arya exhaled, refusing to act like some blushing maid. “Yes.”

“He hasn’t been here long has he? Do you make it a habit of bedding men you haven’t known long?”

“No,” she replied shortly. “Gendry and I have known each other for years. Sandor didn’t tell you that? He’s not a very good gossiper.” 

“And he’s a good man, this...Gendry?” 

Arya looked down as a smile graced her lips. Fuck. She had become a blushing maid. Shaking her head clear, she answered honestly. “He’s the best in all the seven kingdoms and beyond that. I would know.” 

“That’s what you think?” Sansa asked as if she had just said the most ludicrous thing. “People can surprise you with their hidden cruelties.”

“I know who he is,” she said defensively. “He’s brave, gentle, and strong. If he’d were any more perfect he’d be from one of those bleeding love songs.” She couldn’t keep the smile off her face as she described him.

Sansa’s face softened. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I was curious.” 

“Why?” Arya asked as she picked at her food distractedly. 

“Because I’ve never had a man in my bed that wasn’t there to make me suffer.” Arya looked up connecting their gazes, sympathy filling her eyes. “I’ve never been in love. Not really.”

Arya went silent for a while, unsure of how to respond. “Who says I’m in love? Sandor?” 

“No, you do,” Sansa replied calmly. “You may be a faceless assassin and a kingslayer now, but you’re very transparent when it comes to men. Which is surprising because I remember you being quite insistent on never falling in love and calling me stupid for wanting to.” 

She lifted a shoulder in a careless shrug. “People change.” 

Sansa eyed her carefully. “That they do. Are you considering marriage?” 

Arya tensed, fingers gripping her fork tightly as she frowned. “Why do you want to know?” 

Sansa frowned back over the return of Arya’s defensive posture. “You’re a lady. Continuing to be with him is inappropriate.” 

“I’m not a lady. And I don’t care about what’s appropriate.” 

“Saying you’re not a lady doesn’t make it so. You can’t change our parents. You’ll always be a lady. At least in title, if not behavior.” 

Arya threw down her fork and rose abruptly from her seat. She gave a mock curtsy. “By your leave, Lady Stark?” 

Sansa huffed at her behavior. It oddly felt as if they were children again. Arya started to stalk towards the door. “Where are you going?” 

“I have things to take care of.” Without any further words, she left her sister alone. Out in the yard, she walked passed funeral pyres that were to be lit soon. Some of the common people had already begun to gather, silently mourning their dead. As they noticed her, some would bow, others would mutter “my Lady” or “thank you”. Uncomfortable, she nodded as she passed them, stopping at one of the pyres by a familiar face. 

The woman she had helped find her husband after the Long Night stood before one of them, quietly crying into her hands. She didn’t need to see the face of the man to know it was him she mourned for. Arya gently raised a hand and placed it on the woman’s shoulder, accidentally startling her. Her blue eyes met Arya’s and it took her a moment before she realized who was beside her. 

“M’lady,” she said, bowing her head. “Thank you...for everything.” 

“Arya,” she corrected, looking down at the man. “What’s your name?” 

“Myra, m’lady...Arya.” 

“I’m sorry about him. Your husband, correct?” 

“Well,” Myra started nervously. “Not in truth. We intended to before the war, but there was so much to do. After, when he...got hurt...he said the words to me and I him. ‘I am yours and you are mine’.” Tears welled up in her eyes again as she smothered another sob in her wrist. 

Arya tore her eyes away from them in favor of the ground. She couldn’t stop her mind from going to Gendry. She never stopped to think that he could’ve been on one of those pyres. Before he had the chance to tell her he loved her and before kissing her again. Though, she was not certain that’s how he felt alone in Storm’s End after she had rejected and abandoned him. She wasn’t good at feelings, much less elevating someone else’s, but she felt compelled to try. 

“You loved each other and you knew it. That’s important. Most people don’t get that. Or worse, some do get it and take it for granted.” 

She could see Myra nod beside her in understanding. “I know, m’lady. Thank you.” 

Arya nodded awkwardly. “Of course. If you need anything, you’re welcome to come find me. Or my brother and sister.” 

Myra’s eyes widened at her words. She bowed her head again gratefully. “Thank you, milady.”

Arya continued down the line of the pyres stopping again when she saw her brother still directing people. She made sure to slide her foot noisily before stopping, catching his attention instead of slipping beside him silently. He grinned as soon as he saw her, though his eyes were still tired. “Ah, I heard you this time,” he said with pride. 

“Well done,” she answered in amusement. “When was the last time you’ve slept?”

“Last night,” he answered, scrunching up his face. 

She watched him closely. “No, it wasn’t.” 

He stared at her for a bit. “It’s too much to do.” 

“Still...you should rest. You’ve earned it.” 

“So have you.” His hand went to his hip, pulling something free. “I’ve been meaning to give this back to you.” He held out her valyrian dagger to her. “The Nightslayer’s championed weapon.” 

Arya scoffed, “Not you too.” 

“Why not? You’re a hero.” 

She scowled at him, snatching her dagger back. “I don’t much like heroes.”

Jon smiled sadly. “You used to love them. Nymeria, Aegon and his sisters, Wanda the White Fawn.” 

“Wenda,” she corrected effortlessly, proving his point. She huffed out a quiet laugh when he looked at her triumphantly. Sheathing her dagger, she looked around. “Are we ready to light them?” 

“Very soon. Is there anyone that you lost or…” he trailed off. “It’s a good way to honor them.” 

She nodded absently. “I’ll light Ser Beric’s. He sacrificed himself for me.” And told her to live with his dying breath. 

“Did you know him?” 

“Yes, we... traveled together years back. I didn’t like him much back then.” 

“He seemed a good man,” Jon commented, looking over to his body. 

“He was. Not a lot of them around anymore.” 

“Probably not, but there are plenty of good women.”

She glanced over at him, knowing who he had in mind. She wished it didn’t take him seeing Daenerys slaughter the people of King’s Landing to see that he was wrong. “Not as many as you think.” 

He frowned, catching her meaning. “You don’t know her,” he said resignedly. 

“I do,” she insisted. “More than I’d like. She’s a killer, Jon.” 

“We all are, Arya.” 

“Not like her. Wh-what if I told you she would burn innocent people, children to get the throne. Hundreds, thousands even.” 

“She just helped save our lives. Dany isn’t capable of that.” 

“Maybe not. But one day she will be.” She could tell he was upset at her words, but in a way this was mercy. There was a veil over his eyes when it came to Daenerys and it was dangerous. She couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever forgive her for killing his queen if he thought it was unprovoked. She had been piecing together a plan to kill the Dragon Queen and she was sure she could get it done.

Jon grimaced at her, still refusing to see another side to ‘Dany’. “Everything’s about to start. We’ll talk later.” 

“I don’t mean to upset you. I just want you safe.” 

He deflated a bit, not agreeing but understanding. “You’ll be at the feast?” 

“Of course.” 

“We’ll talk later.” 

“Okay,” she said, watching him walk away. 

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya tries to go through with her plan to kill Daenerys. After a discussion with Bran, she discovers that some things can be altered and some can't.

Arya stood back as the fire spread through the pyre holding the bodies of their people that lost their lives to the Long Night; those she wasn’t fast enough to save. A stray tear fell down her cheeks as she looked back to Beric’s burning body. It also reminded her of King’s Landing of the burnt child and mother she’d found. She couldn’t bear looking around at the others. She couldn’t handle Sansa’s sobbing over Theon’s body or watching Jon stare down guiltily at Lyanna Mormont’s body, or back at Myra grieving for her fallen husband. Instead, she took a couple of steps back, sliding between Gendry and Sandor. She didn’t care about the eyes she drew as her hand blindly slid in between Gendry’s. 

He welcomed her immediately, lacing their fingers together. They stood together, staring ahead both mourning a man they’d once wished dead. When she couldn’t stand it anymore, she looked to Daenerys, who stood in front of Ser Jorah’s burning pyre. The Dragon Queen stood with tears staining her face as she grasped Missandei’s hand just as hard as Arya had Gendry’s. Still, Arya watched her, forcing herself to acquaint the grieving woman with the tyrant who almost burned her alive. She would see to it that this was Daenerys’ last day alive. 

As the people began to disburse and head back to their duties, Arya forced herself to look away. Sandor took one look at their joined hands and scoffed. “Is the twat your wife now, Kingslayer?” 

She felt Gendry tense beside her, annoyed but not spoiling for a fight. “Why? Are you going to run and tell my sister?” 

The Hound turned away, spitting towards the ground. “Fuck off,” he dismissed, “I’ll leave you two horny fucks to it then.” 

Despite herself, Arya grinned. “Sandor,” she called out, surprising him. He slowly turned to face her. “I’m glad you’re here.” 

His face slightly softened and hips lips weren’t as tightly pulled in a frown as it always was. Something almost sad crossed his eyes. “Not for long,” he stated, walking away. 

Her mood darkened as she realized that no matter what Sandor’s fate would be the same. He wanted his brother dead and not even a dragon overhead would stop him. He only cared that the Mountain was dead. That wasn’t true she supposed. He also cared that she got out alive and lived; lived differently from him. She didn’t think he would be too pleased with the choices she made after they parted. She could almost hear it.  _ No one knows what’s West ‘cause everyone who’s tried is fucking dead, you dumb bitch.  _

“I can see why you robbed him and left him for dead,” Gendry remarked, glaring after the man. “Lottsa good men were burned today while he lived.” 

“He’s far from the worst.” He looked down at her with a raised brow. “He fought for me many times. I would be dead several times over if not for him.” 

He hummed in confusion. “I remember holding you back as you tried to stab him.” He glanced down at her body before meeting her eyes. “Are you going to tell me what happened after...after we got separated?” 

She bit her lip nervously, “How much do you want to know?”

“Everything.” 

“No, you don’t.” 

He smirked. “I know you normally know best, milady. But I’m sure I can handle it.” 

“Shut up, stupid,” she said lightly before sobering. “You think you can.” 

“I know,” he insisted, leaning down to rest his forehead against hers. She sighed before kissing him shortly. 

“If you insist. We’ll talk later. After the feast.” 

“After the feast,” he repeated, kissing her again. 

Arya detangled herself from him with a smirk. “Don’t drink too much tonight, yeah?” 

Gendry shook his head in confusion, but then nodded nonetheless. “As you command, Lady Stark.” 

She rolled her eyes, walking away from him. She could hear his laughter follow her as left and again, like a fool, she felt herself grin. 

**************

Arya knelt by her bed as she shuffled things around in the bag that contained things from her time as a faceless man. She moved a face to the side to use for the night before reaching for a vial. The poison she chose was subtle and slow to reach the system. It wouldn’t be painful as the Strangler that Sansa described when telling of the Purple Wedding. And not as instant as when she killed the Freys. Once consumed, it would take hours maybe even a day for Daenerys to feel the effects and not long after for her to be dead. A knock at her door startled her. She slid the bag back under her bed and started towards her door. Opening it, she sighed once she realized it was only her sister. 

Sansa stepped inside without invitation, gesturing for Arya to close her door. 

“What do you want?” Arya asked. 

Sansa paused at her tone. “Are you still upset about earlier? I won’t apologize for telling you the truth.” 

“I’m busy.” 

She scrunched up her face. “With what?” 

“With important things. The less you know the better.”

“Are you going to the feast?” 

Arya looked to the corner of her room, where her bow rested. That’s how she spent her time during the first feast; cooped up with her weapon. She would need another weapon tonight and she wouldn’t be alone. “Yes, it’s in my honor. Why wouldn’t I go?”

Sansa barely kept the shocked look off her face. “No reason.” Sansa sat on her bed as graceful as ever. “He’s handsome. Your Gendry.” 

“I know,” she muttered distractedly. 

“There’s something familiar about him,” she wondered aloud. 

Arya paused to consider telling the truth. She sighed, rationalizing that Sansa would know soon anyway. Tonight Daenerys would legitimize him and reveal him as a Baratheon to the world. Frowning, she remembered that it would probably be the Dragon Queen’s last act. “He’s Robert Baratheon’s son; true son.” 

That earned a shocked expression from her sister. “Are you certain?” 

“Joffrey had the Goldcloaks hunt us down. Or Cersei. Or both.” She shrugged carelessly. “We barely made it out alive.” 

Sansa looked calculating for a moment as if she were fitting the answers to different riddles. She must have found the solution as she looked up with an epiphany in her eyes. “Robert Baratheon’s son? Many were loyal to the Baratheons and many think them extinct. If anyone found out who he is. They would surely want him on the throne.”

“He’s a bastard,” she replied.  _ At least for the next hour or so.  _

“So was Jon before he became King in the North.” 

“Gendry doesn’t want to be king. He’s not his father.” 

Sansa smirked, looking away. 

Arya raised an indignant brow. “What?” 

“Jon always says the same about his queen,” she mused. “Lord Royce spoke to me earlier. He saw you two together. He said he thought the dead had risen again. I thought he just meant you and Aunt Lyanna. But with his Baratheon looks, he must be the very image of his father.” 

“Gods, I hope not,” Arya laughed. 

“I meant when he was younger. Back when he loved Lyanna. Before she was stolen from him.” 

Arya’s laughter died as she thought about them. Lyanna wasn’t stolen, she left Robert because she loved another. Their situations were so different, yet so similar. Arya ran West while Lyanna ran to Dorne. Lyanna ran for the love of her child and husband while she ran because of fear. Robert had started a war for Lyanna because she was the one he loved. Gendry told her that nothing that came with his legitimization was worth anything without her. Though for a moment, she envied her aunt. She was always told how willful and fearless she was. Lyanna wasn’t afraid to love or pave her own way. Arya never wished to meet her more than at that moment. 

Another knock at her door interrupted them. “Come in,” Sansa called out before she could. 

A handmaid came in lowering her eyes before addressing them. “My Ladies, the feast is beginning.” 

“Thank you,” Sansa said shortly, waiting for the woman to leave again. She turned to address Arya. “Let’s go make nice with our Queen.” 

Arya’s eyes darted to the bottom of her bed, where her bag was left concealed. “Yes. Best not keep people waiting.” She found her dagger and put in on her hip, opting to leave Needle in her room. She’d be in close quarters and daggers were easier to draw if things went wrong. Nodding over at Sansa, the two left her chambers and made for the dining hall. 

As they entered, the noise in the room, died down considerably. Most of the eyes in the room turned to her and not before long, every eye was on her. She shuffled uncomfortably before looking at the empty space beside her. Her sister had abandoned her, taking a seat at the high table. 

Daenerys stood up, her demeanor demanding complete silence. Her eyes found Arya and she smiled brightly. Arya studied her. It was genuine and gracious. That was good, she reasoned. Daenerys thought she could still sway her. 

“Arya Stark, the Hero of Winterfell and the Nightslayer,” she announced, sounding every bit of a queen. 

The entire hall fell into a chorus of shouts and cheers. She heard “Nightslayer”, “Kingslayer”, and “Bringer of Dawn” echo through the room. She knew that eventually more titles would become stuck to her name after the night. “Azor Ahai Reborn” and “Queen of the Dawn” were the most annoying. Even Kinvara had referred to her as the Lord’s Champion, which was just as bad. She took her place between Jon and Bran at the table. Jon pushed a cup of wine in her hand for her to toast with. Despite how all the attention made her feel, she had another part to play. At least for the night. She forced a perfect smile on her face, turning it towards Daenerys before giving it to the rest of the people there. Without another word, she raised her cup to the hall, causing the cheers to rise to a new volume. 

Her eyes scanned the hall, taking in each face. The Lannister brothers had been leaning against each other laughing with the crowd alongside Ser Brienne and Podrick. Her eyes connected with Brienne and the woman nodded proudly at her. The smile she sent back was real, glad to have the first female knight’s approval. She then looked to the table of Wildings with Tormund, which she was sure was where the majority of the noise stemmed from. Arya smirked before looking to the back to the room. To her surprise, Sandor had slightly raised his cup to her with something of a smile gracing his lips. And on the opposite side of him stood Gendry. Her smile widened as she watched him applaud her. She reluctantly tore her eyes away to look at the people near her. Sansa and Bran sat tensely staring ahead. Bran wore no expression and Sansa wore none but a tight-lipped smile. 

Jon chanted “Nightslayer” a few times with a grin that she returned. Her eyes fell back on Daenerys, who she shared a quick nod with before the Dragon Queen looked to Jon. 

“My friends,” Jon started, addressing the room. “Enjoy yourselves tonight. We stand as survivors and victors of a great war. Let’s live like it tonight.” He raised his cup to the room as she had done, sending the room back into chaos. 

The three of them took their seats as servants came out carrying food to them and their rowdy people. Arya dug in as soon as the food got sat in front of her, not exactly eating like a wildling but not at all ladylike as Sansa would’ve preferred. 

Jon leaned in as she sipped her wine. “You know it’s not going anywhere, right?”

“I’m the Nightslayer, aren’t I?” she asked, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Shouldn’t I be able to eat how I want?” 

“Aye,” he agreed in amusement, “but Sansa keeps sending looks over here. Want to give her a heart attack?” 

“No. Suppose I shouldn’t throw my feet on the table either, huh?” 

Jon smirked, tipping his own cup to his lips. She noticed Daenerys sending him a longing look as he set his cup back down. She noticed Arya’s stare, bashfully smiling before looking to her food. Arya forced herself not to frown over at her. She had to remember that she was to enjoy herself and let others see that she was enjoying herself. So, when she slipped away and a common serving girl took her place, no one would think she or House Stark was conspiring to kill the Targaryen Queen. 

“It won’t work,” Bran said quietly next to her. He didn’t turn his head to address her. 

“What?” 

“Your plan. It won’t work,” he repeated, still not looking at her. 

“You know,” she tried to ask inconspicuously. She leaned away from Jon, fearing that he would accidentally hear. 

“Yes.” 

“Why won’t it work?” 

“Because your role in this is not as a killer.” He finally looked at her. “Killing is not your only use.”

“I didn’t say it was, but this is what needs to be done. And I have to be the one who does it.” 

“You don’t.” 

“I do.” 

“That didn’t work last time, did it?” 

“No, which is why I’m doing it tonight instead of after King’s Landing burns.” 

“The priestesses will interfere again. She’ll be resurrected again and House Stark and Westeros will pay the price.” 

Arya frowned at the possibility. “Then, I’ll make sure there’s nothing to resurrect.” 

“Her dragons could lay waste to the world in vengeance of their mother.” 

“It didn’t before.” 

“Things are different now. You saw to that.” 

“What do you propose I do, then? I can’t just sit back and let everything happen.”  _ Like you did,  _ she thought angrily. Last time he knew what would become of King’s Landing and said nothing until the moment he was crowned King of the Six Kingdoms. No matter what happened, she couldn’t bring herself to hate the Three-Eyed Raven that wore her brother’s face, but she often wondered about his intentions. 

“I can’t tell you what you should do. But if you attempt what you’re planning, you’ll fail. And failure is not an option,” he pointedly repeated Kinvara’s words, shocking her.

Arya stared back at him in contemplation. “How do I know you’re not telling me this so you can be king again, Bran the Broken?” 

“I always had no desire to be king. I have no desires. I became king because...I thought it was what fate demanded. It was not.” For a moment, Arya thought she saw a hint of sadness in his usually dead eyes. “You must remember, sister.” 

“Remember what?” she asked in irritation. 

“That you can never stop playing.” 

Arya stared back at him, remembering Jaqen’s words. “What are you two conspiring about?” Sansa leaned forward and asked. Her blue eyes narrowed at him before turning to her. She was obviously displeased with being left out. 

“Nothing,” Arya lied smoothly, looking back to Bran. She hoped he understood why Sansa couldn’t be included. 

“Well, you couldn’t have possibly been discussing nothing.” 

“It’s more possible than you’d think,” Arya returned, taking another sip of wine. She scrunched her face up, she was growing tired of wine. 

“I was reminding our sister how much weight her actions carry.” His intense stare burned through her. Squirming a little, she set her cup on the table harder than necessary. 

“And what actions are those?” Sansa asked curiously. 

“Leaving the feast early,” she answered, standing from the table with a harsh push back of her chair. Arya didn’t care for the eyes that flew to her from their table as she left from the hall, Bran’s new developments weighing heavy on her. She walked absently after stopping by her chambers. She once again found herself shooting arrows and getting lost in thought. This way she was forced to think about Bran’s words and if they had any truth to them. It should’ve been easy; to kill Daenerys and save the innocents she would kill. Though, she wasn’t sure that killing her would save them. But what was she sent back for if not killing? She couldn’t believe that ending the Long Night was simpler. There was also the question of if she could trust Bran or the Three-Eye Raven. When she trained in Braavos, the faceless men had taught her to detect a lie. They taught her to watch so closely she could see the twitch of one’s facial muscles and they taught her to listen well to hear even the slightest change in their voice. None of that applied to Bran. He spoke every word the same. The few glimpses she had seen into his humanity had not helped her in figuring him out. 

Aiming another arrow, she let it loose in frustration. If she ignored Bran’s warning and killed Daenerys, the bad couldn’t outweigh the good. The people of King’s Landing would be safe. The mothers and children she couldn’t save would live on to see another day. Jon wouldn’t have to spend his life in exile for kinslaying and queenslaying. She reluctantly considered Bran’s words as the truth. Killing Daenerys could also end in their destruction. The only reason she escaped unscathed the first time was because she was West. She was given the miracle of trying to fix the wrongs of the past once, but she didn’t think she would get another. That meant she had to check her impulses and consider every possibility. 

_ We never stop playing. You can never stop playing.  _ The sentences echoed in her head, once as Jaqen and once as Bran. Angrily, she loosed another arrow, hitting the target. “Whoa,” she heard before someone stepped out with his arms raised. “Don’t shoot.” 

An unsettling feeling settled in her stomach.  _ As if things weren’t horrible enough.  _ She slowly lowered the bow as Gendry stepped closer to her with a small smile. “Why’re you here? Shouldn’t you still be celebrating?” 

“I am,” she answered, but placed her bow to the side. She dreaded his next words, looking down to avoid his gaze. “You too, right?” 

He shrugged his shoulders in indifference. “I guess. Word got ‘round that we were...we  _ knew  _ each other and Tormund decided to give me some - um...let’s call it advice. Apparently having the favor of the Nightslayer is a great feat.” 

Her brows furrowed in confusion. He didn’t seem as excited to be the new Lord of Storm’s End as he was before. “And?” 

“And what?”

“Didn’t Daenerys talk to you?” 

“Talk to me about what?” His eyes widened in panic. “Did you tell her I was Robert Baratheon’s bastard?”

She shook her head, taken aback by his question. “No, I -” 

“‘Cause if she knows - my father took the throne from her family.” 

“Gendry, I didn’t tell her,” she assured him. She knew Jon had told her by now. She frowned wondering why Gendry hadn’t been legitimized as last time. Looking at him, she noticed his straight posture and clear look in his eyes. He wasn’t drunk as the last time. She had asked him not to tonight. Despite his legitimization being one of the things that tore them apart, she didn’t wish to change it. Guiltily, she sighed, “Why aren’t you still at the feast?” 

He huffed out a breath, calming a little. “You left first. You looked upset.” 

“You should go back,” she said dismissively, reaching back for her bow. 

His hand stopped her before he grabbed both of her shoulders. “I don’t want to. You’re not there.” He leaned down, bringing their lips together. She eagerly kissed him back, gripping his arms. Leaning back, he smirked down at her. “I’d like to stay here if milady permits.” 

Arya pushed at his shoulder, making him laugh. “Stupid,” she said fondly. “You really should go back though. I think you might enjoy it.” She tried to push him. As she told him before, she knew he would be a wonderful lord. The people would love him and he would never take advantage of them. He would deserve it more than half the nobles in Westeros. 

“And miss a chance to personally thank the Nightslayer? Never.” He noticed her frown and his mood dropped. “Unless you want me to go.” 

“I don’t,” she said quickly. “It’s just you were supposed to - tonight was -” she stopped speaking, unable to voice her thoughts. What if she was changing things for the worse? She had already changed one of the only good things that happened last time. She sighed, shaking her head hopelessly. 

“What’s wrong, Arry?” he asked as he attempted to catch her gaze. 

She almost scoffed at the name. She hadn’t been Arry for a long time. She’d barely been Arya. There had been No One and the Nightslayer and the Sailor of the Western Seas. So many people that she could easily forget which one she was supposed to be when she woke up. She wondered how Gendry could still see Arry underneath them all. And it came easy to him. She could help the small smile that formed. She leaned forward to bring him in a slow, deep kiss. They took their time to separate, still holding on to each other. “You know any one of those girls back there would be lucky to have you.”

“So? I don’t want them.” There was no lie or semblance of doubt in his words and it made her heart ache more. “I want you...I love you.” 

She let her eyes fall closed against him. “I love you, too.” 

They smiled against each other and Arya swore she had never felt freer in her life. It was a feeling she knew she could get used to and she selfishly wanted more. She had scarcely done things for herself that made her feel like this. Returning back home to be with her family had been good, but it had come with the bitter realization that each of them had changed into entirely new people. Sailing West had been great too. She met new people and learned new customs. Being on new land had given her an excuse to forgo all the titles and terrible memories she had gained from Westeros. Though, the more time she spent around the foreigners who had trusted her enough to let her stay on their land, the more she was reminded that she belonged somewhere else. The realization had come too late as she got word of what happened to Westeros. Desperately, she tried to get back to her doomed home, even costing the lives of her crew.

But this? Being with Gendry gave her the exciting feel of a new adventure, yet felt so easy and familiar. There didn’t seem to be any hidden downside to him. He had seen the worst parts of her and a part of a few of her worst memories, and he still looked at her in awe and called her Arry. She felt lighter at the thought and suddenly she didn’t feel so afraid anymore. Before she could even comprehend what she was saying the words flew from her mouth.

“Do you want to marry me?” 

  
  
  
  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bran reveals some information to Arya. Arya and Daenerys come face to face. Set in 8x04.

Even as children, Gendry would fall asleep first. No matter what filthy conditions they were forced into, and no matter the danger they would wake up to. It was something that saddened her the more she thought about it. As a lowborn bastard in Flea Bottom, he must’ve learned to sleep despite surroundings. He was never completely safe. His life had been one danger to another; just like hers. He let out a soft exhale beside her and she sighed contently. She twisted in the blanket that covered both of their nakedness to stare at him. Another thing that never changed is that they always slept together. Sometimes for warmth, while they traveled in search for Riverrun with Hot Pie. Sometimes for familiarity as they were surrounded by the Mountain’s other unfortunate prisoners. And even when they fought, which used to be often. She remembered the night he told her his intentions to stay with the Brotherhood. Hesitantly, he had taken his place next to her while she forced herself not to look his way. It was a habit that lasted through years of separation and the changes in their relationship. Even now as they laid as two people recently betrothed. 

It was almost dawn. There were a few things that needed to be done. Carefully, she slipped out of bed and quickly dressed. With one last look at Gendry, she left, quietly closing the door behind her. As she walked the halls, the people who had risen early had greeted her with a bow. An annoying habit she’d never get used to. Along with people’s tendency to mutter “Nightslayer”. Once outside the castle, she went for the one spot she knew she’d find Bran. She stopped as she noticed two people already up, speaking upon the battlements in urgency. They hadn’t seemed to notice her, so she was able to catch a little of their conversation. 

“I was once told that bastards could rise high in the world,” Sansa stated in a hushed voice to a conflicted-looking Tyrion.

“That may be but -” His eyes found Arya as she approached. “Arya Stark, the Nightslayer,” he had exclaimed proudly as if he and her sister weren’t discussing a grave matter. 

“Tyrion Lannister, the Imp,” she greeted, earning a glare from Sansa. 

Tyrion held up a hand to calm her. “It’s quite alright. I always thought the name made me sound dangerous. Of course not as dangerous as any of your titles, Lady Arya.” 

“No,” she agreed, “not nearly as much.” 

“You’re up early,” Sansa observed. “We missed you at the feast last night.” 

“I’m afraid I wasn’t in the right spirits for the festivities. I was bedridden all night.” She smirked when Sansa caught the meaning. Her sister could school her face well enough to not show how appalled she was, but not well enough to keep her cheeks from reddening. She decided to get the answers she wanted. “What are you two conspiring about?” she asked lightly, mimicking Sansa from before. 

The two exchanged glances. Sansa’s face scrunched before she could help it and it told her that she was struggling with something. Perhaps whether to tell her the truth. They were discussing bastards. Jon? It couldn’t have been. Jon and Bran wouldn’t tell them of his parentage until later. Unless she had somehow found out earlier. After all, Gendry didn’t get legitimized due to her actions. 

“Nothing important,” Sansa settled on. 

_ A lie.  _ Arya tilted her head, regarding both of them. She decided to just ask. “Is this about Jon?” 

“Jon? No, why?” Sansa asked in confusion.  _ Real confusion. Truth.  _ “Tyrion has some...concerns about the queen.” 

Tyrion frowned over at her. “Small concerns.” 

“It’s okay. We can trust her. She doesn’t trust Daenerys either.” 

Tyrion gave a quick look around, paranoia written all over his face. “Perhaps we can find another time to discuss this. And a place where we’re not so exposed to curious ears. We still have the matter of my sister.” He looked pained before looking away. “I trust I’ll see both of you in the council meeting?” 

“We’ll be there,” Sansa promised. 

After he left the sisters, they walked down to the yard. Arya watched the people rebuilding their home that was still in ruins from the Long Night. She knew it would take months for everything to look halfway like it did before. 

“We need to get Jon alone after the meeting,” Sansa started. “Just the four of us. Remind Jon who his real family is.”

Arya sighed. That wasn’t a good idea. From there Bran would reveal Jon’s parents and Sansa would break her oath to Jon and tell Tyrion, which may have helped set events in motion. This was something she had the power to change. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

“Why?” 

“You’re not the only one who can conspire, sister.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“Nothing,” she dismissed. Something else stuck out in her mind. “Besides, you should speak to Lord Tyrion again. Ask him where his loyalties are.” 

“With us or Daenerys?”

“With us or Cersei,” she corrected, remembering one of the charges in Tyrion’s trial. He had tried to show Cersei mercy, which led to his first betrayal of Daenerys.

“He hates Cersei just as much as we do. She’s been torturing him from birth.” 

“She’s still his family. Ser Jaime’s too.” 

Sansa scoffed in disbelief. “Ser Jaime accompanied Brienne to her room last night.” 

Her sister’s tone begged her to read between the lines. Arya raised a brow in surprise. Though, as she thought on, it made perfect sense. The fact that Jaime had ridden to Winterfell to fight the dead, and had Brienne vouch for him. She remembered the broken look on her face as she learned he died shielding his sister. Arya knew their coupling would only end in tragedy. 

“Oh,” she said sadly, entirely for Brienne. 

“Yes, it seems to be going around. I think he loves her.”

“He’ll leave her once Cersei’s in trouble; real trouble. And he’ll die with her.” 

Sansa raised a brow. “You don’t know that. I thought you were the romantic of the family now.” 

Arya bit her lip, not even considering telling about her recent betrothal. “I am not. And I do know what’ll happen. I just wish Brienne didn’t have to suffer. She’s the kindest and most honorable person here.” 

“She is.” 

“So, you’ll speak with her too?” Arya walked on as Sansa stopped to oversee one of the repairs. 

“Where are you going?” 

“Godswood,” she answered over her shoulder. 

“Why?” 

“Prayer,” she called out in the same manner. 

She continued on to the Godswood without any other interruptions. As she guessed, Bran was already there, staring into the distance. He still raised his head as she neared him. “Congratulations,” he said as a greeting.

Arya didn’t need to ask what for. Of course, he had already known. “It won’t mean much if you don’t help me.” 

“What do you need?” 

“Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it. Kill Daenerys, kill her bloody dragons, I don’t care.” 

His lips lifted in a sort of amusement. “You don’t need foresight to know that facing a dragon isn’t the way to right things.” 

Arya scowled at him, frustrated that  _ now _ was the time he wanted to have a sense of humor. “Bran,” she warned.

“I’ve told you last night. Killing isn’t your role in this.” 

“Then what is?” 

“Of everyone here, you’ve seen the most. Not as much as I, but you’ve taken something from everywhere you’ve been. You were raised here as Arya Stark. You learned to be a lady and manage households, do sums, and protect your people. In Braavos, you learned how to protect those people and yourself on a battlefield. Most importantly, you learned how to see past lies and masks people wear...a useful skill in the game of thrones.” 

She had known all of that already. “So?” 

“What did you see when you left? What’s West of Westeros?” He folded his hands in his lap, sounding interested. 

“Shouldn’t you know already?” She looked past him to the Heart Tree. “What does it matter anyway?”

“It matters.” 

Arya sighed with a resigned shake of her head. “There were lands - small lands, but inhabitable. The first few I visited attacked on sight. I took a spear to the shoulder after I landed on the second one.” Her hand absently touched her shoulder, feeling for the scar that wasn’t there. “The next few were more friendly. Most of them spoke the common tongue, and that made it easier for me to explain why I was poaching their land. The last one was a strange and wonderful place. They didn’t have a king or queen to rule them. The closest to one was a fierce woman named Kai. She was their protector, but when a tribe didn’t have their own leader, she looked after them; cared for them as her family. I just remember thinking that Westeros would never stand for this. Holding a woman in such high regard. Working together for the good of the whole.” 

“Why is that?” he asked in a way that told her he already knew what she would say. 

“You know why,” she scoffed. “Every noble is shit. None of them give a fuck about the common people. They all want power. It’s a disease here.” 

“Not every noble.” 

“No,” she reluctantly agreed, thinking of Jon, Gendry, Brienne, and a few of the only nobles that gave fuck all about power. “But not enough to make a difference.” 

Bran went silent for a moment before speaking. “Before she died, Daenerys prided herself on breaking the wheel of power that crushed lowborns. She wanted the power to reside with the people.” 

“Daenerys burned the people. There’s no power in that.” Just like that, she was back to that day in King’s Landing. She looked at Bran as she spoke hauntedly. “There were children, Bran. People burned alive that had no reason why. People who didn’t give a shit who was on the throne. Their biggest concern was where supper was coming from. And most of them were burned alive, watching the flesh melt off of their loved one’s bones. When I saw how scared they were, how devastated, I realized that things would always be that way no matter what. No one can truly change it. Not even the Three-Eyed Raven.” 

“I was misled the first time. The knowledge I saw was...corrupted and led me to believe that I could lead the Westeros to a new age. Though I suppose even that happened for a reason too, I now know the true path.” 

“Which is?” 

“A new ruler will bring great change to Westeros. One that knows East and West. One that is hailed a savior by her people. She’ll be of old and magical blood.” 

Arya looked at him sharply. “Daenerys? Have you heard a single word I’ve said? I will not help replace one bloodthirsty tyrant on the throne with another.” 

“Has the Daenerys you’ve seen in the past few days seemed like a bloodthirsty tyrant?” 

She paused at the question, mostly because the answer wasn’t what she’d wished. “No.” 

“Perhaps, she hasn’t become that person yet.” 

“Perhaps, she’s a good actor.” 

“Could be. But do remember that Daenerys lost a loyal companion, a woman who was like family, and a child. Grief and betrayal can do terrible things to a person. You of all should know this.” 

“I’ve grieved, been betrayed, and been alone in the world. A city never burned because of it.” 

He blinked, expecting her stubbornness. He decided to change the course of the conversation. “One of the biggest mistakes was made today, in the war council. Daenerys leaves alone with her dragons and fleet and loses. Preventing that may be enough.”

She agreed with his logic. “What do you propose?” 

“I will tell her of how prepared Euron Greyjoy’s fleet is for her. Perhaps, this will prevent her from leaving and buy us more time.” 

She nodded, not wanting Daenerys in her home for much longer, but willing to try. Though, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Bran wasn’t saying something. “What?”

“You never spoke to Daenerys before, correct?” 

“No.”

“You never got to know her before King’s Landing.”

“I didn’t need to speak to her to know what she was.” 

“Do it today,” he demanded, “after the meeting.” 

“Absolutely not.” 

“You asked for my help. Now you have it. Meet with Daenerys after the council is dismissed.” 

“And do what?” 

“Play the game.” 

****************

An hour later, she stood in the meeting, not really listening to the plans she knew would fail. Absently, she realized that Jon was speaking strongly, but she couldn’t bring herself to focus on the words. She felt eyes burning into her and turned to see Sansa looking at her. Arya must’ve not responded the way Sansa would’ve liked because she frowned before looking to Tyrion, who met her gaze with concerned eyes. 

“Sansa right,” Bran added in from his seat. All eyes went to him as he stared at the map. “Cersei’s more prepared and better manned.” 

She saw Daenerys’ nostrils flare as she took in his words. “What are you suggesting?” 

“Gather your forces and wait until there’s a sound plan. Euron’s fleet will be awaiting you when you arrive. They have weapons that can kill your dragon; many of them.”

Her purple eyes seemed to soften with worry at the news. She looked to the map, conflicted. “Are you certain?” 

“He’s the Three-Eyed Raven,” Arya spoke up. “If anyone would know, it’s him.” 

She exchanged a glance with her brother before he turned back to Daenerys. “If you leave tomorrow, you will suffer great casualties.” 

Daenerys sighed heavily without an immediate response. Tyrion saved her for needing to have one. “Lord Bran has proven to have access to vital information in the past. Perhaps, if he thinks waiting is the best, then we should wait.” 

Arya snuck a look to Sansa and noticed a subtle change in posture. She was less tense and it told Arya that her sister was pleased with the turn of events. 

Daenerys narrowed her eyes at him. “The last time you told me to be patient, I listened and lost two powerful allies.” 

Tyrion exchanged a glance with Varys, who frowned. Turning back to his queen, he said, “We’ve also gained a powerful ally.” 

She looked over to Jon. “And what do you think?” 

Jon looked briefly to each of his siblings, lingering on Arya a moment longer. “I trust my family. Though, whatever you choose, the North will be with you.” 

“As will the Unsullied, my queen,” Grey Worm agreed.

Daenerys sighed in resignation. “So be it. We will convene tomorrow and figure the best way to defeat Euron Greyjoy’s fleet. Then, Cersei Lannister.” 

Arya sighed out in relief, looking over to Bran. He was already staring at her. He gave her a nod to remind her of his earlier request. Daenerys’ advisors left first with Sansa trailing behind them. Jon remained looking at the map, troubled. 

Bran looked to him too. “I need help getting back to the Godswood.” 

Jon looked up and nodded. “I sure Arya will…” 

“I would appreciate it if you were the one, Jon. We still have things to discuss.” Seeing no other option, Jon nodded before sending an apologetic look to Daenerys. Bran looked back to Arya and she almost rolled her eyes.

Daenerys smiled sadly before walking toward the door. 

“A word, Your Grace?” she asked, startling the Dragon Queen. She stopped to face Arya, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. 

“What about?” 

“We haven’t gotten the opportunity to speak. I’d like to remedy that.” 

“Arya,” Jon said, stepping closer to her. “What are you doing?” 

“See to our brother,” Arya dismissed, not breaking eye contact with Daenerys. 

“It’s fine, Jon,” Daenerys assured, stepping further back into the room. 

Jon looked down to Arya’s waist, which held her now-famous dagger. He ignored the bad feelings he had in favor of the trust he had in his little sister. He went to his brother before wheeling him out the door. 

Arya followed them to the door, closing it when they left. She turned back to Daenerys, who watched her with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. On her face, she saw suspicion, curiosity, and sadness that she didn’t bother wiping away. It was nothing like after she burned King’s Landing. She saw no sign of the coldness and refusal to believe she had done anything wrong. She saw Tyrion throw down his pin in anger and she saw actual confusion on the Dragon Queen’s face when he reminded her of the city she annihilated. 

“You don’t like me, do you?” Daenerys asked. 

Arya listened to her. She really listened to her. Her tone might have been heard as empty and indifferent to anyone else. However, Arya heard the resignation and loneliness in it. She thought to play the game herself and tell some convincing lie the Dragon Queen would never be wise to, but she knew more lies would make things worse. “No,” she answered, “not really.” 

Daenerys looked down, not surprised by her answer. “May I ask why? I don’t recall being rude to you or your sister. I came to your home and fought in a war that wasn’t mine and lost a child and a dear and loyal companion along with a great deal of my army. So, tell me, Lady Stark, what great offense did I commit against you and your family?”

Arya felt anger boil inside her at the Queen’s indignance. Now she could see some of the Daenerys that would burn King’s Landing. She saw herself as a savior and was used to the blind loyalty that usually came with it. But here in Winterfell, she would get no such thing, King’s Landing either. “I know what you’re capable of. I know what you inspire.” Her largest dragon wasn’t the only concern while King’s Landing burned. Her armies also were a deadly force as they rode through the streets, cutting down fleeing innocents. 

“And what is that, Lady Stark?” Daenerys’ face twitched in annoyance. 

“Terrible things.”

The Dragon Queen gave a rueful smile in response. She slowly approached her, holding her gaze. There was still nothing threatening about her, but there was a hint of challenge to her eyes. “I imagine you’ve had quite the journey, Lady Stark,” she said smoothly. “From here to King’s Landing then fighting your way back. During the Long Night, Grey Worm saw you fighting. He told me it wasn’t possible that you learned to fight like that here in Westeros. There are strong and noble fighters here, but they lack the grace learned in Essos. Would you agree?”

“Yes,” she answered, awaiting any traps Daenerys would set for her. “The weather’s far more superior too.” 

Daenerys gave a stiff nod. “And the people are more grateful also. Which part in Essos did you reside?” 

“Braavos.” 

A conflicted look crossed her face at the mention of the city. Arya wondered if she had a bad occurrence there. Though, the expression slid off her face, giving way to a more dreamy one. “I’ve always wanted to see Braavos,” she confessed.

“Why didn’t you? You have a dragon. You could go anywhere and do anything.” 

Daenerys looked as if Arya had asked the most absurd question. “I have a duty; a destiny. I was born to rule the Seven Kingdoms and save its people. I have the ability to help people with my name, my armies, and dragons. What type of person would I be if I abandoned them for selfish desires?”

Her words cut deep in more ways than one. Arya couldn’t detect any hint of a lie from her words. She believed every word that fell from her lips. The Dragon Queen truly wanted to help people and in her heart, she believed she was. She also couldn’t help to apply Daenerys’ words to herself. She wondered what impact the Stark name would’ve had if she wielded it as she did Needle. Would she be able to change things? Or would she be disregarded as a typical lady despite being the Nightslayer? Or worse, would she eventually become a typical lady? It was one of the worst things she could imagine to eventually become beaten down and accepting her role as the subservient wife and mother with no mind of her own. 

“Have I said something offensive?” Daenerys asked after the long silence from Arya. 

“No, Your Grace.” Arya quickly composed herself. “Though, it’s mysterious that you think this is your destiny as if the gods themselves speak to you.” 

“I was the first to spawn three dragons in over a hundred years, I’ve walked into fires and walked out unscathed, and I was chosen by thousands in Essos. The gods needn’t say much else.”

“There’s only one god and he doesn’t give dragons, magic, or armies. He gives one gift and we all receive it eventually.” 

“Death,” Daenerys realized aloud. She regarded Arya slowly, looking from top to bottom. “There’s a group of people who worship death in Braavos. Faceless Men, I believe?” 

“Yes,” was all she answered. 

“That explains a lot,” Daenerys muttered more to herself. Again, Arya saw no fear in her eyes or posture. If anything, she saw a pique in interest from the queen. She turned away from Arya, putting a few steps between them. “You have the ability to change your appearance?” 

“Yes.” 

“And you’ve killed before? Before the Long Night?” 

“Yes.”

Daenerys turned back to study her. She could tell that her honesty had made an impact on the Dragon Queen. She probably felt less guarded around Arya now. That was good, Arya thought. It would at least make Bran happy. 

“And yet you’re here in Westeros too. Now known as the Nightslayer. You can understand my confusion, can’t you, Lady Stark?” 

“I thought I had a destiny too. I thought becoming a Faceless Man was the right thing to do, but I had to become No One and lose myself as Arya Stark. I realized that “destiny” shouldn’t cost you who are and who you want to be.” 

Arya started for the door but turned back. She gave a bow to her and spoke, “You made the right decision today, Your Grace. I do hope you continue to do so.” Without another word, she left the Dragon Queen along to reflect on their conversation. 

  
  
  
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya learns that there are some events she can't change and a new discovery threatens everything she's been working toward.

Arya had been walking through the still damaged walls of Winterfell when she was stopped by her betrothed. Despite herself, a grin immediately made its way onto her face. It slipped a little as she noticed the troubled look on his face. She studied him, looking for even the smallest insight into his thoughts before he could voice them. “You’re angry,” she concluded, finding the slight furrow of his brows. 

“You can say that.” He nodded down at her accusingly. “I woke up in the softest bed I’ve ever been in alone. And I haven’t seen you since last night.” 

She blinked at him, surprised. Of course, she understood his anger, but she felt there was something else to it. “I’ve been busy. I was just coming to find you.” 

“Really?” he asked incredulously with a raised brow. 

“Yes,” she answered, an annoyed edge to her voice. It was times like these where she recalled his nickname, the Bull. “Really.” 

“Felt more like you were avoiding me.” 

“Why would I do that, stupid?” she asked patiently. 

Gendry shook his head, unwilling to voice the thoughts in his head. She gave him a prompting look. “I’m with my betrothed one moment and alone the next. I thought you - what if - you could’ve changed your mind.”

The energy seemed to seep from her body as she looked back at him softly. She stepped closer to him, waiting for his arms to encircle her. As they did, she raised her own hand to cup his cheek. “I’ll never change my mind.” 

His blue eyes stared into her before darting away quickly, almost ashamed. “But your family might. They won’t want no lowborn blacksmith as a good brother.” 

“You’re wrong,” she said confidently. 

“‘M not. Your sister kept giving me strange looks all day.” 

“Sansa knows about us. Trust me, nothing will make her happier than learning that we’re to wed. Then she can stop worrying about her soiled sister bringing shame to House Stark.” She watched him as her words sunk in. “Sansa is...a properly proper lady sometimes, but she means well. Jon considers you a friend. And Bran probably doesn’t have much of an opinion of you at all; high or low.” 

He huffed out a sound of frustration. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “It’s been a weird day and I missed you.” 

A small laugh escaped her. “We weren’t apart for long.” _Not like before,_ she thought. Though, she could also sympathize with him. His mere presence had alit something hidden inside of her; an urge that made her fight a little harder and think a little longer. It was a soft, warm feeling and it became dimmer with the farther apart they were. She pulled him back, intent on getting to her - their chambers. “Tell me about this strange day.” 

He shrugged as they fell into step with each other. “Been helping rebuild everything, y’know. And every time I looked back...it was -” he stopped abruptly. 

Arya glanced at him quickly. “What?” 

“It’s nothing.”

“Tell me,” she demanded. His lips lifted in a smirk and she knew he was thinking something stupid that contained the word “milady”. 

“A child. There’s this child that’s been ‘round all day.” 

She hadn’t known what she expected, but it wasn’t that. “A child’s causing you unrest?” she asked, failing to keep the amusement out of her voice. 

“Little thing. Almost reminds me of you when we first met. She had these scars on her face. Whenever she caught me, she’d run away. Then I’d find her staring again.” 

That part grabbed her attention. “A girl with a scarred face?” She thought back to the moment she had been sent back. She recalled a girl talking to Davos that matched that description. Davos assured her that she was a survivor when she regretted not fighting. Arya supposed she did have in common with her. 

“You know her?” 

“Maybe. You should speak to Ser Davos about her.” He nodded, not entirely sure what she was getting at. Before he could question it, she spoke again. “What else was strange about today?” 

He sighed as if reliving an unpleasant memory. “The Hound was lurking around your chambers. He saw me comin’ out, asked for you, then called me a twat.” 

Her brows furrowed. “He asked for me?” 

Gendry nodded, sneaking a glance to her. “What’d he want with you?” 

It hit Arya at once and she felt herself go cold. Sandor would be departing to King’s Landing soon to kill his brother. From there she didn’t know much, but she had heard of the death of both Clegane brothers during the burning. Sandor would get his wish and kill his brother, but he would pay with his own life. She understood his need for vengeance but didn’t want to lose him a second time. Sadly, she looked down to her feet and answered, “To say goodbye.” 

As they approached her room, they noticed a figure waiting for them. Arya’s hand instinctively went to clutch her dagger. She dropped her hand back once she recognized the mystery person to be Missandei. 

Missandei gave a small smile as they stopped in front of her. “Lady Stark,” she greeted Arya before turning to Gendry. Her face dropped and her brows furrowed as she stared at him. “And my...Ser?”

“Gendry,” he supplied for her helpfully. 

“Gendry,” she repeated politely with a nod. “Queen Daenerys requests your presence.” 

He leaned closer to Arya, exchanging a glance with her before looking back to Missandei with suspicious eyes. “Why?” 

“There are matters she wishes to discuss with you.” 

“What matters?” he asked in the same tone. 

Missandei’s polite smile dipped at his stubbornness. Arya knew all too well how it felt to be on the receiving end of it. “If you please, Gendry.” She walked around them, intending to lead Gendry to Daenerys and waited for him to catch up. 

Gendry’s panicked eyes went to Arya. She had a good guess as to what the Dragon Queen wanted with her betrothed. Giving him a small smile, she reached up and pulled Gendry down to her. She ran a hand over his rapidly growing dark hair before pulling back. “Go. I’ll see you soon.” _As Gendry Baratheon_ , she wanted to add. 

He looked from her to Missandei and back again. Whatever mistrust he seemed to have lost out to his curiosity and trust of her. Gendry pulled away before following Missandei to Daenerys. She watched them go before turning to her door. Though, she couldn’t bring herself to go in. It could be some time before Gendry got back, so she pulled away from the door and stalked away from the door. 

As predicted, she found the Hound in the stables, readying his horse for travel. He hadn’t noticed her as he worked to secure his things. Beside them was another horse. He was black just like the one the Hound was ready to leave on. She recognized it instantly as the one she had taken to ride beside him on the road to King’s Landing. Arya stepped closer to him, calling out, “You’re leaving already?” 

He didn’t startle as a normal person would’ve, he did breathe out a small “fuck’s sake” before returning to his task. “What do you want, girl?” 

She approached him, silently willing his eyes on her but he didn’t take the bait. “Daenerys agreed to hold her people back until we come up with a smart plan to defeat Cersei and her armies.” 

“Fuck them both,” he spat out. “You think I give a shit about whose ass is on the Iron Throne?”

“What’s your brilliant plan? Cersei has the Lannister army and the Golden Company at her side. They’ll cut you down before you can make it to your brother.”

“They’ll bloody try.” 

“Sandor,” she said in an almost pleading voice. “He’s not worth it.” 

That finally got her a look from the crass man she’d cared for. He sneered back at her. “Not worth it? How many nights did I have to listen to you call out that fucking list of yours? Vowing to kill every one of those cunts. Cersei was one of those names. You gonna let some fucking dragon get to her first?” 

Her kill list had felt like ages ago. Once she found the will to live, the list was as easy to give up as it had been to make. “Cersei’s dead,” she started, certain that her death was one thing that wouldn’t change. “She’ll be in a grave of her own making soon. But I won’t help her get there.”

He scoffed, “Fucking the smith has made you soft.” 

She sighed but didn’t give much more attention to his deflection. “I love Gendry, yes. But he’s not the reason I let go of my list. You were.” 

He paused his work, staring at her for a moment before approaching her. She met his gaze full on as she had when they were reunited. “Didn’t want to turn out like me? That it?” 

He had asked her that after yanking her to him and back to her senses when she had been ready to end Cersei’s life. She shrugged and said, “Something you said.” 

“What?” he asked in a horrible attempt to remain indifferent. 

She shrugged again without elaborating. “Doesn’t matter, does it? There’s nothing I can say to make you stay here.” 

“Not unless you kill me first, Nightslayer? Reckon you can do it?” 

“Yes,” she answered briefly. He huffed out a laugh and she did the same. Though the fondness in her laugh was singed with bitterness and dread. “I guess this is goodbye then.” 

Sandor lifted his large hand to cup her face as he’d done in King’s Landing. A fond look crossed his face before he frowned. For a moment, she thought he had a change of heart, but she was wrong. “Go back to your people; your family.” 

“My pack,” she corrected, “I have a pack that I’m trying to protect, even if they won’t let me.” 

He broke away from her, returning back to his horse. “I don’t need protecting. I just need my brother dead.” He avoided her eyes as he finished up, fully prepared for his lone journey. As he led his horse out of the stables, she called to him. 

She couldn’t stop him, but perhaps she still could save him. “Fire,” she said, causing him to tense. “Fire will kill him or throwing him from someplace high...maybe both.” Arya hadn’t been clear on which had killed the monstrosity that was the Mountain, but she knew a combination of the two would be better than hacking at him with a sword. “You don’t have to die with him.” 

He threw her a glance over his shoulder. “Yes, I do.” Without another word, he walked on towards his grim fate, leaving her behind. Tears brimmed her eyes as she reflected in her lost and failure. The remaining black horse neighed, catching her attention. She gave the horse a small, sad smile as she caressed its mane. The animal relaxed into her touch as she wondered if she would still have to ride the horse to King’s Landing and leave on a white one. It was difficult to predict how much she could change, even with the help of the Three-Eye Raven. She sighed, heading back to the castle. Maybe she couldn’t save Sandor but the rest of her family still had a chance.

  


***********

It was a little after supper when two steady knocks sounded against her door. She rolled over on her bed to look at the entrance. “Come in,” she said softly, knowing who was on the other side. When Gendry entered, closing the door behind him, she noticed the grin that rested upon his face. She weakly responded with a lazy lift of her lips. “You don’t need to knock.” 

He ignored her comment, obviously too excited. “You’ll never guess what happen.”

Her smile grew to one of amusement. “Yeah? What happened?”

Gendry’s smile faltered before he approached her on the bed. She sat up to face him. He nervously looked down at her and she vaguely recognized the expression from when he proposed. “The Queen legitimized me. I’m no longer Gendry Waters. I’m Gendry Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End.” 

“Congratulations,” she said before meeting him in a kiss she expected. 

Like before, he pulled back in an excited panic. “I don’t know how to be lord of anything. I don’t even know how to use a fork.” 

“It’s a good thing you’ll have help.”

He looked at her as if she had spoken Braavosi. There had been less shock when he discovered she killed the Night King. She felt pride at the realization. “You...you said you’re not a lady. You’re _always_ saying that.” 

“I’m not,” she shrugged. “I’ll never be one.” 

She watched his face fall. “I understand,” he said, “I do. The name, the land, nothing would be worth anything without you. Just say the word and I’ll tell the queen to find someone else.” 

“Storm’s End belongs to your family, she can’t find someone else.” 

Gendry landed on the bed beside her. As he stared into her eyes, she found nothing but sincerity and love. “You are my family.” 

Arya felt her heartbeat pick up as she smiled back at him. “I am and you’re mine.” She threw a leg over his side, straddling him. His arms instinctively found her hips, holding her in place against him. “I’ve been many things, Gendry. A killer, No One, an explorer, the Nightslayer. None of them ever felt right. I’ll never be the lady that people want me to be. But I’m not against being a wife; your wife.”

Gendry pulled her to his lips, hands exploring her body. Lust nearly consumed her as their kisses heated her body. As his rough fingers slid under her clothes to caress her scarred skin, she pulled back and brought their foreheads together. “But,” she started, “I won’t sit knitting while you do all the important things.”

“Not fond of knitting myself,” he answered, nipping back at her lips, but she had more to say.

“And if you become like any of those other lords or your father, you’ll have Needle to answer to. You know what I can do with a sword.” 

“I do, milady,” he breathed as he stiffened beneath her. She smirked at him before seeking his lips again. 

**********

She laid her head on his chest, feeling his arms hold her close. His chest rumbled as he laughed. “Your sister had a chamber prepared for me.” 

“Perhaps you should go. It’s improper for a lord and lady to behave this way,” she said, playing along with him. 

“I look forward to a lifetime of being improper with you.” His grip tightened on her as they joked. After a moment of silence, he sobered. “I wonder why she did it.”

“What?”

“Daenerys. My father destroyed her family and took her throne. Why legitimize another Baratheon?” 

“Loyalty,” she answered confidently, “She’ll better hold the throne if she has a Baratheon supporter.” 

“She says Lord Tyrion is what convinced her.” 

Arya frowned. “Why would he do that?” 

He shrugged as best he could. “Dunno. I saved his life once.” 

“Oh,” she muttered. “What else did the Queen say?” 

“She wanted to do it the night of the feast but had lost sight of me. She said she changed her mind when she found out about us. Something about not wanting to further offend you.” 

Arya rolled her eyes, flashing back to her conversation with the Dragon Queen. “Too late,” she replied quietly. “So Tyrion changed her mind back?”

“Him and Lord Varys, I think. Just don’t know why she listened.” 

Her brows furrowed in confusion. The Imp and the Spider both wanted Gendry to become legitimized. She wondered how they both came to know about Gendry’s parentage. It was possible that Daenerys was the culprit. Though, something didn’t seem right about that. She had thought back to Gendry’s claim from earlier that day about his strange occurrences. The child following him and the strange looks from Sansa. 

Arya jerked up as she put the pieces together. Without even a glance to Gendry, she rose from the bed, hastily throwing on enough clothes to leave the room. She could feel his eyes on her as she pulled on her breeches. 

“Going somewhere?” he asked.

“I need to speak with my sister. Stay here.” 

He looked down at his nakedness then back to her. “I have no choice. Milady’s stealing my shirt.” 

She looked down, noticing her mistake. She didn’t let it slow her down though. Heading out the door, she turned to him once more. “I’ll be back.” At his nod, she left, closing the door tightly. 

Arya remembered to control herself as she approached her sister’s room. She knocked quietly instead of banging like she wanted to. Instead of yelling and demanding Sansa show herself, she waited patiently for her to open the door. Once Sansa opened the door a little, Arya did push herself in without invitation. 

She heard Sansa sigh tiredly. Her eyes slowly took in Arya’s state of dress before lingering on her neck that was fresh with bites from Gendry. Ever the lady, she didn’t breach the topic with her. “What are you doing here at this hour? Is something wrong?” 

“Yes, something is wrong,” Arya answered, no longer able to suppress her anger. “I know what you’re doing. You’re going to get us all killed.” 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I opted out of smut. Hopefully, I can work some in later.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya grows closer to one sibling as her relationship with another becomes damaged.

Sansa was obviously a good student from those she had learned from. Arya had gotten a glimpse of those who’d inspired her during her journey. Her posture was very queen-like. She thought back to a past Winterfell feast, where Cersei sat, regarding each of the people with a suspicious gleam in her eye and an air of superiority. She had seen her sister mimick that stance a few times, whether in petitions or celebrations. Arya also remembered the vague insults the Lannister Queen had thrown her way in the short time they spent together. 

“Yes, she looks it, indeed,” Cersei had responded to her father’s introduction, referring to her as a wild, northern beauty. She had said it with a slight, knowing smirk that only grew wider as Arya poorly curtsied for her. As much as Arya hated the connection, she knew she had seen those same antics, more so since Daenerys had arrived. 

Arya despised Tywin Lannister with everything in her. She had felt the same stab of disappointment when she learned of his death by the Imp in Braavos as she did when she learned of Joffrey’s. Though, she could admit that the man had a sense for tactic that most people lacked, including his daughter. Cersei seemed to still act without considering the consequences. Her brother had explained that she didn’t care to send her men to aid in the Long Night without fully considering the fury of her remaining enemies. 

Along with his cruelty, Cersei had also shared her father’s desire to ensure the success of House Lannister by any means and sacrifice. Everything Sansa had done since they returned had been for the betterment of House Stark, or so she claimed. Arya believed her, even with the decisions that she didn’t necessarily agree with. She silenced her mind when she suspected Sansa wanted Jon’s throne. She did the same as she broke her oath to Jon and revealed his Targaryen lineage to Tyrion. And she had done it again as Sansa asked for Northern independence, despite a Stark already sitting the throne. 

She wouldn’t do it this time. 

Sansa’s eyes narrowed at her in confusion. Confusion that wasn’t real. “I don’t know what you’re speaking of.” A lie. 

“I think you do.”

Her eyes darted towards the door, probably wondering where the nearest guard was. It was silly. Arya would never hurt her, no matter how mad her choices drove her. Though, she was free to express her anger whenever she wanted. “We should talk about this in the day.” 

“No,” Arya rejected firmly. “Tell me why you, Tyrion, and the Spider are using Gendry to conspire against the Dragon Queen.” 

The only response she received from her sister is a small sigh paired with a composed expression. Arya hated how much it reminded her of Littlefinger, another one of Sansa’s other mentors that grew stronger in her with each day. She remembered Littlefinger conspiring with Tywin Lannister to help with the downfall of her brother and mother. Littlefinger was loyal to no one but himself. Then she recalled Sansa’s genuine-sounding oath in front of the Heart tree. At the time, Arya hadn’t detected any lies in her promise, but it was broken all the same and Jon paid the price. She wouldn’t have the same or worse happen to Gendry. 

“Arya…” 

She held up a hand, already hearing that Sansa was about to lie again. “I know everything, Sansa. Perhaps, you’re not as clever as you think.” 

Sansa sighed again, dropping the act. “He’s our best chance against her. He’s the son of Robert Baratheon. People who knew him will flock to the kin who bears his image. You said that he was gentle and the best man in the Seven Kingdoms. He is the only one who has a strong claim to the throne other than Daenerys.” 

He wasn’t, but she surely couldn’t let Sansa know that now. “He will not be king,” Arya stated. “I won’t allow it.” 

“Why?” Sansa asked with a slight mock in her tone. “You don’t want him to marry another? You think you’re not a lady, I sincerely doubt you want to be queen.” 

“I don’t. And he’ll never marry another.” 

“You love him and he loves you too. I’ve seen it. But romantic matches end in tragedy. Our mother and father, our brother and good sister. What makes you think you and Gendry are different?” 

Arya snapped her mouth shut to prevent anything from escaping that she couldn’t take back. Collecting herself, she waited until she could form a decent reply. “Because we won’t let anyone between us.”

“Not even for the good of the realm?”

“You have no idea what I’ve done, what I’m doing for the good of the realm.” 

“Yet you’re holding back the best chance of Westeros having a good ruler.” 

“Gendry’s not a pawn in your game of thrones. He will not be another piece knocked down to lift another shitty noble higher above the commoners. Kings die,” she started thinking of Robert Baratheon and his brothers, his sons, Robb, and Balon Greyjoy, “Queens die,” she said, thinking of Margaery, Cersei, and Daenerys. “If Gendry is king the same will happen to him. I won’t allow it.” 

“It may be out of your control, sister,” Sansa said with genuine sympathy. “Mine too.”

Arya’s brows furrowed with confusion. “What’s that mean?” 

“Lord Varys wants to soon send word to every major house, imploring them to support Gendry’s claim instead of Daenerys’ or Cersei’s.” 

She huffed out her frustration, anger coloring her every thought. “Idiots,” she seethed, repeating, “you’re going to get us all killed. It’s going to be all for nothing.” She mumbled to herself as she started to pace. Jon had been a rival to Daenerys for the Iron Throne, but the Dragon Queen had loved him. What would she do to Gendry if she discovered her advisors’ betrayal? And what would become of the people in King’s Landing? Arya was on the brink of failure and she didn’t know how to escape.

“Calm yourself, Arya. Tyrion still believes in her. He’s convinced him to wait until she shows more signs of madness before looking for other options. It shouldn’t be a long wait.” 

“You’re being stupid. Each one of you. She has dragons and armies loyal to her. The only thing you’re going to do is push her closer to madness. And you’re not even being smart about it. Gendry has noticed your child spies watching him.” 

Sansa looked away in offense. “They were Lord Varys’ little birds. Unfortunately, Northern children aren’t as schooled in deception as they are in the South. I use ones that are older and not as easily detected.” 

“Like Littlefinger?” she asked, starting to let her anger into her words too. She remembered seeing the man pay off a servant after getting the information of her and Sansa’s cold behavior to each other during one supper. 

Sansa frowned at the implication, but it didn’t seem to bother her as it should’ve. “For all his distasteful qualities, he was a very smart man.” 

“It didn’t keep him alive.” 

“No, because we outsmarted him. Together. And we must remain that way.” She approached Arya and grabbed for her hands. “We are family and stronger together.” 

“Gendry’s my family too,” Arya said, slipping from her sister’s grasp. She expected the disappointed look from Sansa. Before her sister could say much else, Arya headed back towards the door. She turned back before opening it, looking Sansa in her eyes to convey the truth in her words. “If you don’t put a stop to this plan of yours, I will. Whether it be telling Jon or taking Gendry to where you’ll never find us. Your plan will never see the light of day.” She opened Sansa’s door, closing it harshly behind her. 

She stalked back to her room, anger still coursing through her veins. As she entered her chambers, she realized Gendry was asleep, snoring lightly on his side. Arya felt some of her anger seep from her. She approached the bed, undressing as she neared and climbed in beside him. She threw her arm over him protectively, pressing her cheek to his naked back. Keeping track of his breathing soothed her as she laid against him. She imagined a few worlds where Gendry was king. The people were happy and the worlds were just, but at the end of every one of them was Gendry dead; killed by a faceless enemy. Her hold on him tightened as she vowed to protect him from his from the friends and foes that would use him. 

***********

The next morning, Arya sought out the company of her older brother. He was the only one beside Gendry that gave her strong motivation to fight as hard as she was. She sat across from him, sharpening Needle as he wrote a letter. Taking a glance down at the parchment, she raised a curious brow. “Looks important,” she observed. 

“It is. It’s going to Yara Greyjoy. Dany’s going to need her fleet against Euron.”

“Daenerys trusts you to send that?”

Jon frowned at the question. “I’ve given her no reason not to.” He paused his writing for a moment, setting the quill to the side. “What did you two talk about after the meeting?” 

“Things,” she vaguely answered. 

“Things? What things?” 

“ _ Dany  _ didn’t tell you?” 

“No, she didn’t. We had a...disagreement. She hasn’t been very talkative with me lately,” he admitted with a tortured look. 

She stopped with Needle, sending her brother a look in pity. Being in love with his aunt couldn’t have been easy, neither could learning his entire life was a lie. “How are you?” she asked. 

He looked at her as if he hadn’t heard the question before. Jon sent her a small smile, contemplating the question. “I don’t know. A lot’s happened. I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“Start with this disagreement with Daenerys.” She saw his eyes narrow at the name. He probably wasn’t used to her using her name. Then his face twisted in conflict as he internally battled with himself. Jon stared at her with eyes that looked so much like her own. She gave him a reassuring smile that he slowly returned. His walls finally crumbled. 

“There’s something I want to tell you...and Sansa. Daenerys doesn’t think I should, but I can’t keep this from you. It’s too big.” 

Her lips lifted in a slight smile. “That you’re the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark?”

The bulge of his eyes was almost humorous, but then they held a great panic. It reminded her of Gendry. A lot of Jon reminded her of him. “You - you know? Did Bran tell you?” 

“Yes,” she nodded, not exactly lying. He had asked who told her not  _ when _ . “But no matter what, you’ll always be my brother. My favorite.” 

“You mean that?” Jon asked hesitantly. 

Arya never got the chance to ask him what he thought about being the son of a Stark and Targaryen. Had he thought them less family? Had he been afraid that he would be shunned from the family. Did he not understand it was nothing she wouldn’t do for him? “With all my heart.” 

Her brother exhaled, looking as if he had been released from a heavy toll. “You have to swear not to tell anyone.”

“I won’t.”

“Swear, Arya.” 

“I swear it,” she said softly to assure him. “I’d die before ever betraying you.” 

He nodded. “That includes Gendry too, you know.” 

She raised a playful brow at him. “How’d you know?”

“Let’s see,” Jon smiled in amusement at her question. He leaned back in mock contemplation. Arya thought he looked like Jon Snow before he saw all the horrors of the wall. “You two held hands after we lit the pyres. There was the time I overheard Tormund suggesting he give you the Lord’s Kiss as an award for killing the Night King. And the few times I’ve seen him entering and leaving your chambers. I may not know a lot, but I do have eyes and ears.” 

Arya looked down in something akin to embarrassment. “Are you upset?”

“That most of Winterfell knew about my little sister and friend? And I found out in the worst way possible? A little.”

She smirked, “Are you saying you wanted the personal details from me or Gendry?” 

“Gods, no,” he shuddered. “A little warning would be nice next time.”

“Alright,” she agreed, leaning forward. She bit her lip nervously before confessing, “Gendry and I are betrothed.” 

Jon laughed, a deep sound that bubbled from his chest against his will. Though, once it was out, he couldn’t stop another from coming out. Then another. Arya stared back at him, torn between being glad she could bring him this joy and being offended by his laughter. She chose the former as a laugh of her own slipped out.

“I’m not jesting, Jon.”

His laughter abruptly stopped. He checked her face for any signs of a jest, hoping that his sister wasn’t serious. “You’re what?”

“To wed. Soon.” 

Jon leaned forward, a scowl making its way onto his face. “Seven Hells, Arya! What’s the meaning of this?” His face paled as a thought came to him. “Has he gotten you with child?” 

Her scowl matched his as she considered how little he thought of her. “I’m not an idiot, Jon. And neither is Gendry. Besides, if I were, I wouldn’t marry because of it.” 

“Yes, you would,” he said quietly. “A life of a bastard isn’t a good one. Gendry knows as well as I.” Jon leaned back again, not as relaxed as last time. “Don’t you think it’s too soon?” 

“As I told Sansa, we’ve known each other for years.” 

He looked surprised at that. “The point still stands.” 

“What? How?” 

“Because I haven’t seen you in years. And just moons after you get back, you’re leaving for Storm’s End.” 

She smiled. “Gendry won’t have me chained in our chambers, knitting and birthing babes. I’ll visit often.”

“And you’re fine with being…” he scrunched his face, “Lady Baratheon?” 

She bit her lip again in thought. “I’m fine with being married.” 

“Then I guess you have my blessing.”

Arya scoffed, “I didn’t ask for it.” 

“Aye,” he conceded with a smile. “You have it regardless.” 

“Thank you.” 

“And if there was any man I had to take as a good brother, it’d be him.” 

She smiled, somewhat pleased that he had approved of Gendry. “I’m sure he feels the same.” 

“I do want to have a discussion with him though.” 

“About what?” she raised a brow in suspicion. 

“Things,” he answered eventually, a teasing smirk playing on his lips.

She wanted to strike him with Needle as she’d done when they said their goodbyes. Her brother was quite the jester when he had some weight off his shoulders. He had looked nothing like that as he learned of his exile or when he said his goodbyes to his family. It had become one of her top priorities to make sure he never looked like that again. “I don’t want the whole realm to know yet. Will you keep my secret?” 

“Of course,” he answered without hesitation. He looked back to the parchment before picking the quill back up. The lightness had started to fall away as he signed his name. Arya regarded him for a moment. As she had done with Gendry, she imagined a world with him as King. 

She frowned, hating the idea just as she had with Gendry. “Would you ever be king?” 

Jon looked to her in confusion. “Arya, Daenerys is -” 

“I know,” she interrupted him softly. “But if there was no one else. And it was for the good of Westeros, would you?” 

He didn’t seem to know how to reply. Arya had heard some of his stories as soon as they were reunited the first time. He had been Lord Commander before the King in the North, neither which he actually wanted. She often wondered how much a punishment his exile had been. She also wondered why her brother hadn’t left on a ship long before she did. 

Jon took his time before speaking thoughtfully. “If honor demanded it. If it was the best thing for Westeros.”

“That’s quite the demand,” she commented. “Father would be proud. Your mother too, I believe.”

“I wish things were different,” he confessed softly. “I wish I got to meet her...him too. Dany tells me stories sometimes. Ser Barristan Selmy told her my father liked to sing. He liked to be among the people. And he hated fighting, despite being good at it.” 

Against her will, Arya imagined another scenario. One where Jon spent his early years with his mother that looked so much like her and his white-haired, Targaryen father. It was one where she didn’t see or play with Jon each day. One where she had no one to turn to when Sansa called her Horseface, or when she believed herself to be a bastard. She had almost endured that life as she planned to sail West and never see him again. In a twisted way, her returning had been a blessing as well as a curse. She smiled over at her brother. “He sounds like you. Except for the singing. You don’t have the voice for it.”

Jon let out a breathy laugh. “And here I thought I had a future traveling to different inns singing “She-Wolf and the Dawn”.” His teasing smile grew wider as she rolled her eyes.

_ The She-Wolf was so fierce no matter what she lacked in brawn, she ran and pranced and pounced on him and her strike brought the Dawn.  _ She frowned as part of the song repeated in her head. The Arya of nine years wouldn’t believe that she would one day have songs sung of her. Her fierceness, her quickness, and even some that mentioned her “wild beauty”. Sandor was right, they saw her as a hero, but she often never felt as such. “That one’s quite catchy,” she reluctantly admitted.

“Aye,” he agreed truthfully, “not as much so as the one where you turn into a wolf and bite the Night King’s head off.”

Her eyes glanced at the ground in sadness. “That’s what they used to say about Robb. That he could turn into a wolf.” 

Jon’s smile dimmed as he remembered their fallen brother. “Wouldn’t have been surprised. He was good at everything.” 

“I wish he was here. And Rickon.” 

A haunted glaze covered his eyes. “I was right there. By Rickon. I almost saved him. I didn’t get to him in time.” 

She knew. Sansa had told her shortly after informing her that Bran was back in Winterfell too. “I was there too.” Jon’s brows scrunched in confusion. “With Robb and my mother. I was there.” No one had known, except for Sandor. She never had the guts to admit that she had failed again as she had in King’s Landing when Ser Illyn took her father’s head.

“What do you mean?”

“Sandor brought me to the Red Wedding to ransom me. We...arrived just as it started. I never made it inside. I saw them kill Grey Wind, and I saw them...I saw what they did to our brother.” 

Jon’s eyes had misted over, barely holding back tears. Arya sniffed herself, forcing the memory back and the chants of “King in the North”. “Arya…”

“I know Jon,” she assured, knowing what he’d say. She hesitated, wondering if she should continue or not. She had just told him there was nothing he could do for her to not consider him her brother. But were there conditions to his love? The words came out before she fully made a decision. “I made them pay, All of them.” 

He stared at her until realization dawned on his face. “The Freys? That was you?” 

“It was,” she admitted nervously. 

“How?” 

“Poison.”

Jon frowned over at her, seemingly getting lost in thought. Arya’s dread grew in his silence. She had been ready to excuse herself when he looked back up at her. “Good.” 

She had been certain that she mistook his words, but the sincerity and understanding in his expression told her otherwise. As silence took hold of the room, he finished with his letter, sealing it. 

Jon huffed out his exhaustion. “Hopefully, my talk with Sansa will go this smoothly.” 

Arya tensed, thinking back to her sister and her conspiracy with the Imp and Spider. She frowned, remembering that Jon telling her the truth would even further complicate things. It would put Jon and Gendry in the same danger. Arya gnawed at her lip as she noticed the letter branded with the three-headed dragon of the Targaryens going to Yara Greyjoy. 

“Your Queen’s right, Jon,” she admitted, prompting a surprised look on his face. “Sansa shouldn’t know about this...yet.” 

“I thought you two were getting on better now.” 

They were. “We are. But I know our sister. It’s not the time.” 

Jon fought the frown threatening his lips. Though, at the same time, he looked relieved that she and Daenerys had found common ground on something, even if he didn’t understand why. “Are you sure?”

She nodded, sure that the decision would keep her once-bastard boys a little safer for a little longer. “Yes.” 

  
  



	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys plans for war and Arya makes a decision.

At the insistence of the Queen, another feast was prepared for the arrival of Yara Greyjoy and her Ironborn. Arya sat between Jon and Sansa, staring ahead at the rowdy crowd in the hall. The Ironborn ate, drank, and shouted. Their heavy shouts consumed the hall as they partook in drinking competitions and narrowly avoided three fights. She snuck a glance to Jon before leaning over. “Makes you miss Tormund, doesn’t it?” As before, the Wildlings had decided to return North, despite Jon and Daenerys’ offers of land in the North. And also like before Jon had sent Ghost along with them. She could see a shift in him as he separated from his wolf. It made her think of Nymeria and her pack, still wandering in the wild. 

He huffed a laugh before observing the crowd. “I actually missed this. Things were getting a little too quiet around here.” 

“Quiet’s good,” she responded with a shrug. 

He nodded along in agreement. “I do miss them though. Maybe after everything’s over, I can go visit.” 

Arya almost frowned. That was one of the things she wanted to avoid. She turned as she noticed Sansa’s eyes on them. Her sister leaned closer to them. “What are you talking about?” 

Arya sighed, turning away from her, intending to ignore her sister. Jon took pity on her after looking between the two. “The Wildlings.” 

Sansa looked out to the crowd before looking back. “Yes, I had grown quite fond of the lot of them. It’s a shame they wouldn’t take what was offered to them.” 

She took a sip of wine as she listened to Sansa. Her words were only half-true. It must have been that she didn’t truly want the Wildlings to leave, but she knew managing them would’ve been inconvenient. Though Arya didn’t call her out on it, she didn’t see the point of making a scene during a feast.

“I think he’ll truly be happier up there. Ghost too.” It was hard to miss the sad smile that graced their brother’s face. Arya reached over to cover his hand with hers. 

A burst of loud laughter rang from the right of them. Together, they each turned to see Yara Greyjoy with the Queen, smiling flirtatiously at her. She leaned over to Daenerys and whispered something to her that made the Dragon Queen smile. Jon’s brows furrowed at the display. 

“Yara’s good at seducing women. At least that’s what Theon told me,” Sansa remarked, starting to look slightly amused. “You may have a competitive suitor for the Queen’s heart, Jon.” 

Jon exchanged a look with Arya. He was still struggling not to tell Sansa the truth about himself, but he trusted Arya’s advice. Sighing, he looked over to Sansa with a forced smile. “I’m not a suitor.” 

Sansa hummed. “That’s not the impression I got when you first arrived. You seemed quite smitten with each other. And she admitted that she loves you.” 

Another tortured look crossed Jon’s face before he pulled his hand from Arya’s to reach for his wine. “Let’s talk about something else,” he implored, tipping his cup to his lips. 

Her sister had the decency to look ashamed for a moment. “I’m sorry. I just -” 

“Sansa,” Arya began slowly, “Jon said we should talk about something else.” 

“Very well,” she replied tersely. “Lord Baratheon is aware that he has a seat over here with us?” She looked to the table, where he sat with commoners and a few familiar faces. 

“He hates highborns. With good reason,” came Arya’s clipped reply.

“You’re a highborn,” she countered, “ _ He’s  _ a highborn. The son of a King.”

“A dead one.” 

“That may be but it would make a better impression for him to be seen with us. People will perceive him better when he arrives in Storm’s End.”

Arya looked back to her sister. She almost felt bad at the expression her sister held. It was one of genuinely good intentions and apology. Still, she felt her stubbornness win over. “How he is perceived is none of your business.”

Sansa frowned into her cup before looking away. Jon leaned back towards them, looking awkward at their exchanges. “The lad’s in good company. He’s with Ser Davos and Ser Brienne. Two very honorable highborns.” 

“Yes,” Arya agreed, “seem’s he’s in better company than we are.”

Sansa scoffed, “seems so.” 

Jon huffed tiredly, suddenly back in the past with his squabbling siblings. If memory served, if this persisted, Arya would be spilling the bitter wine in her cup onto Sansa’s dress if he didn’t interfere. “Enough, please. What’s wrong with you two?” 

“Nothing,” Arya answered shortly. 

He didn’t believe that for a second. Scoffing, he turned to Sansa. She merely shrugged off his gaze. “Nothing,” she answered.

“Whatever it is,” he started, ignoring both of their obvious lies. “You should find a solution soon. We cannot fight amongst ourselves now.” 

“I have a solution,” Arya said before standing from the table. She ignored Jon’s calls as she made her way over to the table that held Gendry, Davos, and Brienne. His blue eyes lit up as she slid next to him. There was little space between them and if she slid over a little she’d be in his lap. That didn’t go unnoticed by the two knights seated with them. 

“Lady Arya,” Brienne greeted with a slight nod. “Or do you prefer Nightslayer?” There was a curl of her lips that resembled a tease. Arya realized she had never seen the woman in a humorous situation. For that reason alone, she let the jest slide. 

“Just Arya,” she answered while Gendry’s arm slid around her waist. 

“That’s what he says,” Davos commented. “I’ve heard congratulations are in order.” 

Arya sharply turned to look at him. She noticed the dazed look on his face as he cowered away from her gaze. He lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “I only told them.” 

“And my lips are sealed, Lady Stark. Not much to gossip when you get my age.” 

Gendry leaned against her shoulder, pressing a kiss there. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, sweetly. 

Despite herself, she grinned at him. Her hand found his hair and she ran a hand through it. “You’re drunk.” 

“Am not,” he argued in a slurred voice, proving her point. She couldn’t believe that even in his drunken state, his stubbornness had won out.

“Are too,” she grinned against him. 

“Davos has been telling me about the North and weddings and your…” he trailed off, seemingly forgetting the rest. 

“And the traditions of a Northern wedding,” Davos finished. 

Brienne looked interested in that. “You want to do it here? Why not Storm’s End?” 

Arya often forgot the female knight wasn’t of the North, despite her honorable qualities, strength, and willfulness. “It’s my home. It’s where my family is.” She heard a quiet snore in her ear and realized her betrothed had fallen asleep. She glanced at him unimpressed before looking to Davos. “How much has he had to drink?”

The Onion Knight chucked and Brienne gave another teasing grin. “He got into a drinking match with one of Yara Greyjoy’s men. He’s taking a piss outside with no problem. However...Gendry,” he gestured to the sleeping man resting on her shoulder. 

“Yeah, he’s stupid,” Arya said fondly, still stroking his hair. She turned away to address Brienne. “You’ve been to Storm’s End. What’s it like?” 

Brienne’s smile turned sad as she thought how to answer. “It’s lovely, my lady. Though, I’ve been told it’s an acquired taste. The weather is quite different from here.”

“That’s not a problem.” It wasn’t really. She had been to many different places and had to adapt to different climates. The Stormlands wouldn’t be much of a challenge for her. Though, whenever she was in a different place in the world, she would miss the feel, taste, and sight of snow at one point or another. She missed it as she sailed West and as she trained in Braavos. She even had begun to miss it both times she resided in King’s Landing. “What about the people?”

“Loyal. Especially to the Baratheon name. King Renly,” she paused before glancing over to the table, where the Kingslayer sat, toasting his brother and Podrick. “He inspired love and loyalty in his people. I see him in Gendry...and I know they will too,” 

Davos lifted his cup, raising a brow in agreement. “And he has all the best qualities of Stannis: his stubbornness, his strength, sense of justice. And none of the bad ones.” He drank as sadness filled his eyes. Though, his also contained an anger that wasn’t in Brienne’s. 

Arya remembered Gendry recall what his uncle did to him along with the Red Woman. She knew if she had known Stannis was partly responsible for ripping him out of her life, he would’ve made her list. 

Davos grunted, rising from his spot. “If you’ll excuse me. I’ll be getting to bed. I don’t think the Warden of the North will appreciate his advisor nodding off at the war council.” 

She and Brienne nodded their goodbyes as he left. Brienne gave another quick glance towards the Lannister brothers before she looked back to Arya. Clearing her throat, she nodded to Gendry. “If you need help with Lord Baratheon...I can gladly -” 

“No need,” Arya responded with a shake of her head. Abruptly, she moved her shoulder from under her sleeping husband-to-be. His head slid down until he met the table with a soft thump. He quickly sat up straight, rubbing at his head.

“Ow,” he muttered, glaring at Arya. “Whadudothatfor?” he asked in the same slurred voice. 

“It’s time for bed, stupid. Get up.” He rose with her with one last half-hearted glare. She caught his arm as he stood up on wobbly legs and pulled it around her shoulder. Brienne grinned at them in amusement before looking impressed at Arya’s ability to support her future husband’s weight. “You’ll be at the council, Ser Brienne?” 

“Yes, my lady.” 

“Until then,” she said as they parted ways with Brienne. As they left, Arya could see Jon’s amused expression as he watched them. Next to him, Sansa stared at them. Though, it wasn’t with the disapproval that she expected from her. After all, she was half-carrying a drunk Gendry to her chambers that they still shared inappropriately. Instead, the apologetic look had returned and it wasn’t schooled or learned from any of her deceptive mentors. The observation softened her as she gave a small smile back before exiting with Gendry. 

It was a long walk back to her chambers, or it felt that way at least. As they entered their chambers, Her arms felt sore as she helped place him on the bed. She glared at him. “Don’t get this drunk again, Lord Baratheon. I’m never doing that again.”

“I know,” he responded, still half-aware. Sitting up on the bed he grabbed her and placed a sloppy kiss on her lips. 

Her annoyance melted away as she kissed him back. Pulling back, she cupped his face. “Go to sleep,” she commanded softly, brushing their lips together one last time. She walked away from him, loosening her tunic. 

His eyes followed her as she made way to the other side of the bed. “Don’t wanna sleep,” he argued lightly in a husky voice. 

Arya simply smirked as she finished undressing. She waited, not turning to face him as she mentally counted.  _ 1...2...3. Thump.  _ She finally turned to look at him and was met with the sight she expected. Gendry was laid out on the bed as if someone had struck him in his head. She rolled her eyes. That’s probably how’d he feel when he awoke tomorrow. Changed into her sleeping clothes, she slid in beside him, anxiously awaiting to tease him about everything when he woke. 

***********

Yara Greyjoy stood in the center of the room. All eyes on her as her presence commanded. She watched Daenerys with an unyielding gaze. She must’ve really admired her, Arya observed as she thought back to Yara’s insistence for justice over her fallen queen. Arya had threatened her then, consumed with anger that someone would dare mention hurting Jon in her presence. Looking at her now, she wondered how that fight would go. She could tell there was a hardness to Theon’s sister and she would fight as such. Then Arya looked to the armor that would allow her to move quickly, giving her an advantage that fighters like Brienne didn’t have. At the feast, she used the dagger that now sat on her hip to clean her nails, but Arya could tell she knew her way around a weapon. 

“My Queen,” she started, “the rest of the Iron Fleet awaits at White Harbor for your orders. My fleet and I are at your command. But I do ask one thing of you, Your Grace.” 

Daenerys blinked in surprise. “And that is?” 

“I will be killing my uncle. He has to die by my hand.” 

Arya’s brow raised at that. The demand reminded her of the Hound and his mission to cut down his brother. He would be halfway through his journey and halfway to his death, she gathered before shaking the thought. Arya looked towards the Dragon Queen. 

Daenerys simply smirked before nodding. “Granted. You shall have the justice you seek.” 

“Not justice,” Yara corrected unapologetically, “vengeance.” 

“You shall have that also.” Daenerys looked toward Tyrion, who sat by her side. “What news of Dorne?” 

“The new Prince has sworn his allegiance. Though, with the Dornish, their support is always conditional.”

“Conditional?” she repeated the word, testing it on her lips. “What conditions?” 

“I don’t know,” the Imp answered regrettably. “If I were to guess...independence. They wouldn’t be the first to ask such a thing.” His eyes flickered to Yara. 

“That would make me Queen of the Five Kingdoms, would it not?” 

“Yes.” 

Daenerys frowned, bringing her clutched fist to her chin in contemplation. “How am I to save the Seven Kingdoms if they’re not united?” None of her advisors got the opportunity to answer. “No, there will be no independent kingdoms aside from the Iron Islands. If Dorne’s help comes with conditions, let it be justice for those who’ve perished at the hands of Cersei.” She looked to Tyrion and Varys before they nodded their agreement.

Arya watched the two men who had been plotting to place Gendry on the throne instead of Daenerys. The Imp had looked unsure of the Queen’s words while Varys didn’t. His face was sculpted into one wiped clean of doubt. It was enough to fool almost everyone. Almost. 

Daenerys turned away from them to stare at her. “Arya,” she called out, forgoing her titles. 

“Yes?” she answered doing the same. 

“Is everything okay with Lord Baratheon? I can’t help but notice his absence.”

“I’m afraid he’s unwell right now.” 

“Lightweight,” Yara muttered before a few of her men laughed. 

Arya glared in her direction, that impulsive anger returning to her. Yara met her gaze fully, not backing down, unlike last time. Perhaps, she would find out what Yara Greyjoy could do in a fight.

Daenerys cleared her throat, gaining both of their attentions. “If you don’t mind. Tell him I’d like to speak to him.”

Arya turned away from Yara and set a suspicious gaze on the Queen. “About what?” 

“Rallying the Baratheon supporters. Should be an easy task. Cersei has caused the downfall of many of his kind. They’ll want their justice too.” 

Tyrion looked down before releasing a shaky breath that only Arya knew what for. Her gaze went back to Daenerys. “I’ll speak with him,” she said simply and vague enough. 

“Very well. We should move quickly. I expect us to leave as soon as a week from now, a fortnight at the latest. If Lady Sansa can spare the means?” 

Sansa looked towards Arya from her seat before pursing her lips. She looked at the Dragon Queen as she answered. “We’ll find a way to make do with what we have,” she stated before looking away. “Your Grace.” 

Daenerys was smart enough to hear beyond the words but decided not to press. Between them, Jon looked over at Bran. “It will be easier if we had more information on Euron’s whereabouts.” 

Bran stared at him for a moment. “His forces will be divided. He and Cersei have anticipated your arrival at Dragonstone. There will be a split force there and guarding King’s Landing.” 

“So what do we do?” Jon asked his brother.

Bran broke their gaze to look down at his lap. Arya fought not to raise a brow. For a moment he looked sad and more like Brandon Stark. But before she had a chance to fully examine what she had just seen, the Three-Eye Raven returned, clearing off everything that crossed his face. He looked back to Jon blankly. “Fight them. Meet them at Dragonstone and battle their fleet. Once they’re defeated, continue on to King’s Landing.” 

There was something her brother wasn’t saying, and she didn’t know how to go about asking him about it. She stood, uncomfortably shifting in her spot. 

“Just like that?” Jon asked.

“Yes,” Bran responded, “though casualties are to be expected.” 

_ What casualties?  _ She wanted to ask. 

“My uncle, where might he be?” Yara asked, not completely sure of what the Three-Eyed Raven was or did. 

“Dragonstone, awaiting Daenerys.” 

Daenerys’ eyes narrowed before she nodded. Yara smirked at his words, a hand absently going to the hilt of her dagger. The two women gazes met before sharing a nod, in silent agreement about something. Daenerys stood, followed by Jon then Sansa and the rest of the room. “We leave in a week for Dragonstone. Then to King’s Landing. Then to Cersei.” 

The Ironborn erupted in cheers first before the rest of the room did. Daenerys smiled, her eyes reflecting her excitement and presumptive victory. As the room filed out, Arya walked over to her brother, relieving the maester of his duties. Gripping the back of his chair, she leaned down to and sweetly asked, “Help you to your chambers, brother?”

He gave a stiff nod before she rolled him out. As they walked the halls to their quarters, Arya looked around, watching for eyes and ears that could be around them. “We’re safe,” Bran assured her as they moved. 

“Are you certain?” 

“Yes.” 

“You know what’s going to happen at Dragonstone.”

“Yes.” 

“Tell me.” 

“You know I can’t.” 

“No, I don’t,” Arya protested in frustration. “Why can’t I know? I already know how things went the first time.” 

“Things will be different this time.” 

“Better or worse?” 

Bran stalled for a moment. “Different.” 

She huffed, growing tired of his antics. “Bran, please, I need to know.” 

“If I tell you what happens, you’ll make different choices. Wrong choices. You need to experience this as if it were the first time.” 

“How do you know I’ll choose what I’m meant to? Your logic could get us all killed.” 

“Not mine. You were chosen, sister and not by me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Is there anything that you can say? Anything?” 

They arrived at his door before she pushed him inside. Bran seemed to be in deep thought, once again looking as if he were at battle with himself and the abundance of knowledge in his head. He looked at her, face still blank. “The idea you had last night. You should follow through with it.” 

Her eyes widened as she took in his words. Gulping, she tried to stop herself from panicking. “Why?” 

“Because it’s what you want. And it will make everyone happy.” 

Arya sighed in something that was not quite relief. She wasn’t sure how much of his advice she’d take, but she knew that his words were true. Her idea would make everyone happy at least for the moment. And they deserved some memory to hold on to before facing Euron’s fleet and Cersei’s army. She left his room for hers, finding Gendry slumped in their bed with an arm thrown over his eyes. 

He flinched as she shut the door, groaning out. “Not so loud, Arry. My head feels like a spear was shoved through it.” 

“Good,” she responded, “shows you right for drinking with the Ironborn.” 

“You drank with the Wildlings,” he feebly protested, referring to the farewell celebration they’d attended weeks ago.

“The Hound taught me how to handle my alcohol. Besides, I was challenged.” 

“So was I.”

“ _ I  _ won.” 

He grunted, not able to think of a proper rebuttal. “Davos is gonna kill me. We’re supposed to continue working on my letters today.”

She smiled. “I know. I told him not to expect you today before the meeting started.”

“Meeting?” he asked as he lifted his arm long enough to look at her. 

“To discuss Euron and Cersei.” 

His brows raised in disbelief. “That was today?” She nodded, taking the other side of the bed. “And I missed it. Haven’t been a Lord for five minutes and I’m already fucking up.” 

“I’m sorry, did you become a great battle strategist recently and forgot to tell me?” 

“Arya,” he said exhausted, throwing his arm back over his eyes. 

“It was a boring meeting and no one’s going to think less of you because you missed it,” she easily dismissed. “We’re to leave in the next week or so. And Daenerys wishes to speak with you about rallying Baratheon supporters.” 

She didn’t turn to face him, but she knew his face was scrunched in confusion. “Baratheon supporters? They don’t even know me.” 

Arya shrugged. “They know your name.” 

“All these people...would go into battle and maybe their deaths for a name?” 

“Names mean a lot here.”

“It’s stupid,” he mumbled. 

“Yes,” she agreed, “but you did travel to King’s Landing to the North to fight for the Starks.”

“No,” he countered, sneaking another glance at her. “I did that for you.” 

Arya broke their gaze to hide her smile. She hated how he disarmed her so quickly with words. She slid down on the bed until she rested on his shoulder. “I’ve been thinking…” she trailed off, awaiting his acknowledgment.

He hummed in interest, “‘bout what?”

“Getting married,” she answered, suddenly nervous, though she knew he wouldn’t reject her. “We should soon.” 

“How soon?”

“Before we leave Winterfell. I’m not sure about what’ll happen when we leave, but I’m sure about marrying.” 

“Alright.” 

“Alright?” 

“Well, I wish you’d brought this up when my head wasn’t in agony, but I’m good with marrying here. I like it here. Even if it is too damn cold.” 

She rolled her eyes at him. “It’s not cold, stupid. It’s the North.” 

“Still cold.” 

“You should also think twice before getting into another drinking match. You need to be clearheaded when Davos explains Northern traditions to you again.” 

“Fine,” Gendry said, easily accepting the request. 

“And you’ll have to tell Jon about this too.” 

He lifted his head to stare at her to see if she was jesting with him but saw no signs of humor in her. His head dropped back down as he released a groan that had nothing to do with his head.

  
  
  



	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winterfell prepares for a wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved writing this super fluffy chapter. This is also my accidental contribution to AxG week's "Marry Me Now" prompt.

"No.” 

“No?”

“No. We’re not doing that one,” Arya said firmly, picking something from her clothes. 

“Well, why not?” Gendry asked, looking over at her.

“There are a few reasons.” 

“Then let’s hear them,” he demanded as they sat in their room. He had taken a break from the practice writing Davos ordered him to do, turning his gaze to the ink that stained his skin. It vaguely reminded him of the soot from the forge. 

“I won’t have you carrying me around like some brute. I have perfectly working legs and I will use them.” Arya shrugged, turning away from him. “Besides, there won’t be a feast for you to carry me to. We’ve exhausted our resources enough. There’s no way the grain stores can survive another feast and it’s still winter.” 

A laugh burst out of his mouth before he could help it. He almost rushed to cover his mouth before remembering the ink there. That only made him laugh harder. 

Arya didn’t see what was so funny. She faced him again, raising a brow. “What’s so amusing?” 

His laughter died down long enough for him to respond. “You just - you sounded so much like a lady just right now.” 

Her eyes narrowed at him as another snicker escaped him. “Shut up.” 

“Sorry to offend, milady.” 

“My lady,” she corrected. “Have you not been paying attention to Davos?”

He looked at her, silently challenging her. “I paid attention to all the Northern traditions that you’ve passed on.” 

“I’ve said no to the bedding and being dragged like a prisoner back to the castle.” 

“Not a prisoner and not dragged, Davos says carrying the bride is like cloaking the bride. A symbol of me protecting you.” 

She only scoffed. “I don’t need protecting.” 

“Of course you don’t,” he agreed in a tone that showed he knew that was obvious. “But it’s my duty to try to protect you. As your husband, your friend, and your family.”

Her lips twitched at his referring to himself as her husband. She decided she liked it and suspected she’d love referring to him as such. “You’ll have to get better with a sword then.” 

Gendry made a face that showed his reluctance. “I’ll stick with my hammer, thanks.”

“Fine,” she conceded, “But a faster fighter than you can poke a dozen holes in you before you could get off a swing.” 

“That’s a rather cheerful image just days before our wedding. Me full of holes for being too slow.” 

“Luckily, I’m not slow.” He reflected her soft smile as he stared at her. She nodded back at him. “It’s my duty to protect you too.” 

“Oh.” Gendry’s face scrunched in a certain way and his smile turned into a teasing smirk. “So, you’ll be carrying me from the Godswood?”

“No,” she answered with a roll of her eyes. “We’ll walk together. Equals.” 

“Aye,” he said, awe resting in his eyes. “So, the cloaking? Do away with that too?” 

Arya bit her lip as she thought about it. The cloaking was the symbol of a man possessing his woman in marriage. The woman losing her identity and maiden name as her new life with her husband reigned over what once was. Though, she couldn’t reconcile that idea with how she expected her marriage to be with Gendry. He said they would be equals in everything and she didn’t need her training at the House of Black and White to know that he meant it. Finally, she shook her head. “No, we’ll keep that.” 

An excited glint crossed his eyes at her answer, causing her to stare back in confusion. He huffed a short laugh, looking away from her eyes. “Good.” 

She decided to let him have his secrets, for the moment. “What about you? Any Southron traditions you’d want included?” 

He scrunched his face again to think. “Haven’t been to many weddings. Certainly not attached to any traditions.” 

Nodding, she echoed, “good.” 

************

Sansa found her alone on the eve of her wedding, stalking through the halls. Turns out there was some stupid Southron tradition Gendry wanted to follow that involved the bride and groom not seeing each other until the wedding. 

“Missing your future husband already?” she asked as she stopped in front of her. “I suppose it makes sense. You two are rarely seen apart these days. The perfect match.” 

“Are you mocking me?” Arya asked in defense. 

Sansa frowned at the question. “Of course not.” The two continued to walk together in matching strides. When she noticed Arya had no intention of sparking their conversation, she exhaled sharply. “You can’t stay mad at me forever, you know.”

“I’m not mad,” Arya replied shortly. 

“Yes, you are. I’ve seen it often enough to know what it looks like. No matter how much things have changed with you, that has managed to stay the same.” 

Arya turned just in time to see the small smile playing on her lips. “I’m not  _ that  _ mad,” she corrected, her own smile finding its way on her face. 

“You shouldn’t be mad at all. You’re to wed tomorrow.” 

“Really? I’d nearly forgotten.” 

Sansa ignored her snark, opting to steer the conversation in another direction. “Is it too much to ask for you to accompany me to my chambers? I have something for you.” 

“A present?” she asked, her curiosity easily winning over. Sansa’s smile grew as she gave a quick nod. “Well, then yes. The idiot I’m marrying insist we not see each other until tomorrow.” 

“It’s tradition. It’s...romantic.”   
  


“Thought you weren’t much for romance these days.” 

They reached Sansa’s door. As her sister went to unlock her chambers, she faced her with a teasing look. “Years ago, I thought if I lived to be a hundred, I’d never see my sister wed willingly. Tomorrow you’ll become Arya Baratheon and it’ll be your choice because you’re in love. I think I’m entitled to acknowledge the romantic nature of it all.” 

Arya rolled her eyes as the door pushed open with a squeak. She followed her sister inside, waiting for her to close the door. 

“Wine?” Sansa asked, gesturing to the two cups on the table. 

Arya approached the table with her. “Prefer ale,” she commented, grabbing one of the cups anyway. 

Sansa scrunched her face in distaste before poorly hiding it. “You sound like the Hound.” Arya’s face dropped at the mention and her sister noticed. “Did he tell you where he was running off to?”

“King’s Landing,” she said before gulping down the wine. She wiped her mouth before refilling her cup again. “To kill his brother.”

“The Mountain?” she asked with disbelief coloring her tone. “He’ll be killed.” 

“I know.” Arya nodded, looking to the ground. She shrugged, trying to belittle her own feelings. ”It’s stupid, but I wish he were here for the wedding. Even though he’d talk shit throughout the entire thing. We’d probably be dueling before the end,” she said fondly. 

Sansa gave a small smile, sipping her wine. “It’s not stupid.” She walked around the table, taking the seat opposite her. “He cared about you. That much was obvious to see.” 

_ And I couldn’t save him,  _ she thought painfully. She stared into her cup a little longer, missing Sansa’s concerned stare. 

“I’m sorry.”

Arya looked up, furrowing her brows in confusion. “About Sandor?”

“About Gendry. Tyrion and Varys can conspire all they want, but I’ll have no part in it. I have counseled them against placing Gendry on the Iron Throne. They don’t want to feel the wrath of the most dangerous person in Westeros.”

“Daenerys?” 

“No,” she smirked. “You.” 

Arya smiled at her sister, a small bout of laughter escaping her. “Shut up.” 

Sansa joined in with her own laughter just as her cup touched her lips. Wine dribbled down her lips as she scrambled to catch the droplets. Arya quiet laughter turned into a full roaring one as she watched the display. Her laughter only calmed long enough to say, “Septa Mordane would be appalled, Lady Stark.” 

Their laughter continued until Sansa sobered, watching Arya with a look that was fond yet sad. It caused Arya’s own laughter to die down. Sansa looked down at her own cup as her eyes became watery. “I swear to you that no harm will come to your husband by my own doing.”

“Thank you,” she said softly. 

“But...I don’t want to see you go. Soon you’ll be leaving for battle with Jon and after that, your place will be in Storm’s End.” 

“My place is wherever I want to be. I’ll always be a Stark, Sansa. I’ll always be your sister. Marriage won’t change that.” 

A single tear slid down Sansa’s porcelain cheek. “I know.” She finished the wine in her cup before standing from the table. “Come,” she commanded, sweeping passed her. Arya scoffed before following her to a chest by her bed. Sansa leaned down, unlatching the chest. “When Theon and I first escaped Ramsey and I found Jon at the Wall. I was broken. More broken than I’ve ever been in my life. The first few nights the only thing that could get me to sleep was the stories we told each other about home. Jon told me about a conversation you two had before we left Winterfell and it stuck with me.” 

“Is that so?” Arya asked. 

Sansa hummed before pulling something free and standing with it. All Arya could see was fabric folded neatly. Then she looked closer in curiosity. It was a black cloak with a goldish-fur fringe. There was something embroidered on it that she couldn’t make out.

“He said you two were jesting about Joffrey’s sigil. And he suggested you take mother and father’s sigils.” 

“A wolf with a fish in its mouth,” she recalled with a smile. 

“Not quite,” Sansa said before unfurling the cloak. Arya’s eyes widened as she took it in. On one side of the dark cloak was a grey direwolf, and on the other side sat a golden stag. Her sister had joined the houses of Stark and Baratheon on a single cloak. Both were prominent, neither one eclipsing the other. On the cloak, both powerful sigils were displayed together, forging a new powerful union. For a moment, she understood why Robert Baratheon pushed for this union as often as he could. Her fingers reached to stroke the cloak, running over the Baratheon stag before hovering over the grey wolf. 

“I love it, Sansa. Thank you.” 

“I know you’ll always be one of us, sister. The lone wolf dies…” 

Her fingers finally connected with the direwolf on the cloak. It felt as comforting as running a hand through Nymeria’s fur. Her eyes started to tear up against her will. “But the pack survives,” she finished softly. 

**********

“Stop that,” she commanded of Jon, surprising him. 

He looked up from the ground, narrowing his confused eyes. “What?” 

“Stop looking at me as if I’m dying.” 

“You used to think marriage was worse than death.” 

She merely smiled. “I did.” 

“You must really love him.” 

“You’re to escort me to the Godswood in a moment so I can marry him. Are you just figuring that out?” 

He breathed out a hybrid of a laugh and a scoff. “I just meant... I didn’t realize how much. But I can see it - in both of you. It’s good someone in the family has that.”

“You could,” she tried to assure him. 

He shook his head sadly, a bittersweet smile taking on his face. “It doesn’t seem to be going that way. Never does.” 

“You mean Daenerys?” 

“Not just.” 

“There was another?” She tilted her head in interest, never hearing such a thing from him. The Night’s Watch didn’t take girls, but that didn’t stop Jon’s friend, Sam from securing a wife and two children. Arya realized it must have been a Wildling like Gilly. 

“Ygritte,” he answered, a haunted heaviness in his voice. “Her name was Ygritte.” 

“What happened to her?” 

Jon smiled and through all the despair she could see a little fond reminiscence in it. That was the silver lining of that, she supposed. Of love. If it were true and honest love, all the good felt could somewhat combat the bad. It sounded like nonsense from the songs, but she had proof that it was true. Standing in front of her with Jon as he talked about his past. In her parents, who grew love towards each other despite marrying for the sake of politics. And in herself and Gendry. If not for their early misfortunes, they would’ve never even met

“It’s not a proper story for my little sister’s wedding.” 

There was a little disappointment in his refusal to share, but something stuck around in her mind that made her grin. “You haven’t called me that in a while.” 

“Apologies,” he said, coming to stand in front of her. His hands took to each of her shoulders, holding her firmly. “You just haven’t felt very little to me lately. You’ve slain the Night King, executed a traitor, and I’ve seen you train with men thrice your size and win.”

“And through it all, I was still your little sister.” 

“Aye,” he agreed softly. “But you’re also a woman grown. An incredible one at that.” 

She breathed out a laugh, looking down as she flushed from the praise. A couple of sarcastic replies popped into her mind, but she didn’t voice them. “Thank you.” Together they met in a tight hug. Her arms wrapped around him and squeezed. It reminded her of their goodbye on the docks at King’s Landing. That goodbye was intended to last them for the rest of their lives. This hug was another kind of goodbye. 

A slight knock upon her door pulled them apart. A servant stuck her head in before she regarded both of them, “My lord, my lady, it’s time.” 

“Thank you,” Jon responded. When they were alone again, he bent down to place a slow, lingering kiss on her forehead. “Are you nervous?” 

Arya couldn’t bring herself to speak the truth, but she suspected Jon knew anyway. “I just hope we remember the lines.” 

He chuckled, nodding to himself. “Shouldn’t be a problem.” He offered his arm to her, waiting before she hooked hers through his. 

Snow crunched under her boots as they moved in the Godswood. She sighed as she noticed the many people waiting to witness the long-awaited union of Stark and Baratheon, despite her push for a small, private affair. As she walked with her brother, she studied each of the faces they passed. She noted Brienne standing very close to the Kingslayer, their fingers occasionally brushing against each other. Tyrion and Podrick stood beside them and Arya could tell the two had started the festivities early thanks to their slouched postures. Sam stood with Gilly as she held onto her son’s hand as another hand rested over her growing babe. Further down she saw Yara Greyjoy standing with the same men she had with her at the meeting. Yara’s glance slid up and down her before a look of approval crossed her face. Not far from her was Queen Daenerys, who insisted on being there to see them wed. As they came closer to the heart tree, she acknowledged more of the faces waiting for her. Bran and Sansa were beside each other, the latter with a fond expression as she watched them. Davos stood beside them, centered in front of the heart tree. 

She swore her heart skipped a beat as her eyes slid to the man who would be her husband in a few moments. Gendry watched her with a smile, his eyes not looking away even once. As they approached him, Jon stared at him for a moment before giving him a quick nod. Gendry returned it before looking back to her. Her brother’s arm slid from hers as he pulled away from her. Though he gave her another kiss to her head before slightly leaning to whisper, “I love you, little sister.” 

“You, too, big brother,” she whispered. 

With watery eyes, he pulled back, guiding her towards Gendry. She smiled almost nervously as she faced him. His eyes glazed in awe as he studied her. “You’re beautiful.” 

Her mind jumbled for a moment. She had been battled the army of the dead and killed the Night King. She had survived a crumbling King’s Landing and felt the heat of dragon’s fire. And she had seen Western lands that no one from Westeros had even known about. And she had been sent back to a time she had already lived thanks to the magic of Essos. Still, nothing was as jarring as facing the man she was to marry mere seconds before she was meant to. 

“You...too,” she responded somewhat awkwardly. It was as if they had traded places and she was he was the collected one while she fumbled to string together words. She saw the tiny smirk playing on his lips and remembered all the times she teased him. 

Davos cleared his throat. They both looked to him, realizing it was time. The Onion Knight watched them both with a fond look before starting. “Who comes before the Old Gods tonight?” 

Jon shakily exhaled before stepping forward. Sneaking another glance to her, he answered, “Arya of House Stark. The Nightslayer and Hero of Winterfell.” Arya fought hard not to roll her eyes. “She comes to beg the blessings of the gods. Who joins this union?” 

Gendry cast a nervous look to Davos, awaiting his nod. He stepped forward more confidently. “Gendry of House Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End and Warden of the South. Who gives her?”

Her eyes found Jon’s again. “Jon Snow of House Stark, Warden of the North. Son of Eddard Stark.” They shared a look and she figured they were thinking the same thing. It wasn’t really a lie in front of their family gods. Jon was Ned Stark’s kin and his son in every manner except biological. She hoped she conveyed her thoughts with her expression. His gentle smile told her that it was close enough. 

“Lady Arya,” Ser Davos called out. “Do you take this man?” 

She nodded, looking to him. Not sure she had ever been more certain of anything in her life. “I take this man.” She noticed the curl of his lips at her answer.  _ Stupid,  _ she thought as she smiled back. 

“Lord Gendry, do you take this woman?”

“I take this woman.” 

“Alright,” Davos said, dropping the proper word order. He looked to Gendry with a prompting gaze. Gendry’s brows furrowed as he failed to grasp what Davos was hinting towards. “Cloak her, lad.” 

“Oh,” Gendry breathed out before springing into action. He stepped closer to her, carefully lifting her gray, one-armed cloak off her. He held the cloak that bared only House Stark colors before swapping it for her the one Sansa made with her new sigil and colors. As he wrapped it around her and clumsily fastened it, she realized something. Arya would never admit it aloud, but the cloaking caused a warm feeling to spread through her chest. The cloaking was a symbol of protection and she almost hated that it actually did make her feel safer. She suddenly understood why it was such a long-lasting Northern tradition. 

Davos moved aside for the couple to approach the Weirwood. Joining hands, they knelt in front of the tree. Arya closed her eyes. She hadn’t prayed since the House of Black and White as she learned to rely on her other senses in the absence of her sight. When she started to pray, it wasn’t to any god in particular. It was to whatever was responsible for giving her a second chance to do things over. To whatever led her to Gendry. She begged whatever was listening to guide her and help her make the right decisions to change things. 

_ Failure is not an option.  _ A voice echoed in her head. It wasn’t Kinvara’s or Bran’s. Her eyes snapped open and her hand tightened on Gendry’s. His head jerked in her direction, checking to see if anything was wrong. When she shook her head, she saw him relax before standing, pulling her up with him. Their hands stayed clasped as they stared at each other. She tilted her head, ready for the kiss he gave her. His hands cupped her face as their lips gently moved against each other. They parted after a moment, their heads resting against each other. 

Arya reluctantly looked away to study the witnesses to their union. She took them in as quickly as she did before. Bran watched with indifference with Sansa by his side, clutching Arya’s maiden cloak. She had caught Jon’s quick glance to Daenerys before he got lost in whatever dark thought followed. The Dragon Queen had also looked lost in thought, though she looked up at them with what Arya guessed was envy. Out further she noticed Brienne staring at the Kingslayer, smiling bashfully as he returned her gaze. 

The crowd began to move towards the feast - small feast, as Sansa assured - after Davos announced their union had been recognized by the gods and the laws of Westeros. The Onion Knight stared at Gendry with evident pride. He clapped him on the shoulder twice before moving with the crowd. They stood not moving, waiting for their guests to clear the Godswood. When they were finally alone, he turned to her. 

“Haven’t you heard? There’s a feast in our honor.”

“I’m aware,” she answered, throwing an arm over his shoulder. 

“So, what’re we waiting for. It’s too bloody cold out here.” 

She sighed at his complaint. “I’m waiting,” she drawled out. “For my husband to carry me there.” 

He hummed in confusion as his face reflected the same. “I thought we did away with that. See, my wife can protect herself.” 

“She can. But it’s tradition.” She shrugged. 

He chuckled, bending to sweep an arm under the back of her knees. He easily lifted her, reminding of his strength he’d developed in the forge. She raised a brow at the display. It wouldn’t be proper for them to skip the feast and go straight to their chambers, but she didn’t think anyone expected them to be proper. 

“You sure?” 

“Just get on with it.” 

He smirked, “As milady commands.” She stifled her groan as they set off together to her childhood home as husband and wife.


End file.
